Gleephobia
by Princess Of Monaco
Summary: New Directions graduated a few years ago. As a pair of our favorite characters return as teachers, they find the Glee Club has only five members. Can they save it, or will past experiences get the best of them?
1. Sandwiches

**This is how Season Four should start. After the Glee Club has graduated, think about it... what happens? More students obviously join New Directions, right? But isn't New Directions completely unpopular? No one would want to join! Dilemma! (I just love that word. Reminds me of Snape.)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee!**

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><p>In the town of Lima, Ohio, four sandwiches were being made.<p>

The four sandwiches in Lima, Ohio were being made at relatively the same time.

The first was already complete. Wheat bread slice on the bottom and going up it would be turkey slice, lettuce, cucumber, light mayonnaise, wheat bread slice. It had been made before on occasion and now was no different. It had been slipped into a simple zip lock bag.

With the second, a simple bologna and cheese with mayo and toasted bread couldn't be more complicated. Did the mayonnaise go on top or bottom? Did it need to be spread or just left to melt its way on the bread? And how much mayo was needed? And what went on that, the cheese or the bologna? How toasted did the bread need to be? Too much and it was burned and crunchy, yet too little and it was soft and not worth the effort of toasting. Was it even mayonnaise at all? Was it mustard!

With the third, gloves were needed. The gloves had no problem, however, going through the process of making the peanut butter and jelly sandwich like every other morning. Creamy peanut butter from the jar in the airtight bag and grape jelly from the bottle in the other airtight bag. Just enough peanut butter to cover the bread slice and the exact same amount of jelly on the other slice, using separate knives. Put them together carefully and then cut off the crust with yet another knife. Put into separate containers and proceed to...

Okay, so it was on a level three. Hopefully the bread won't burn or be too soft or anything. So the cheese went on the bologna? Yes. The cheese when on the mayonnaise. It was surely mayonnaise. But if the cheese went on the mayonnaise, the mayonnaise had to be spread. Then the mayonnaise would be spread! But what kind of cheese was needed!

The fourth sandwich was slowly making its way into existence. After much debate, it was finally decided on to be an egg salad sandwich. The boiled eggs in the fridge had to be used for something, or they'd be spoiled by the next day. The eggs were chopped and mixed with mayonnaise, salt, and pepper before being spread on two slices of white bread. Finished.

Toasted bread (came out perfect!), then mayonnaise, followed by American cheese (it was the only kind in the refrigerator anyway) and two slices of bologna. Topped off with the other slice of bread and slipped into the baggy. About time.

* * *

><p>The drive was a short one. Sometimes he wondered why he even drove a car. It's not like it could go over 40mph anyway. It was old as dirt like that. He really should pick up a new one, but he just couldn't afford that sort of thing. That's how he ended up with the dinosaur in the first place. Money money money. Must be funny, in a rich man's world.<p>

But at least the radio worked. He clicked to a random station. It was just one of those days where he could do that and not want to scream into a pillow or puke his guts out or curl up in his sock drawer and cry for days.

… _smokey room_

_Smell of wine and cheap perfume_

_For a smile they can share the ni—_

As he turned it off abruptly, he took back his previous thought. He wanted to do all three at once, which was rather difficult when he was driving.

* * *

><p>Two pairs of feet were walking along the sidewalk in step.<p>

"S-So you're telling me you aren't prepared? At all?"

"Well, no. Not really. But hey! At least I have my lunch! I'm not totally worth... less...?" The pairs of feet stopped walking and one pair turned full-circle, apparently looking for something.

"Here?" The voice was rather hopeful. Or was it concern and doubt? Either way, the zip lock bag containing the bologna and cheese with mayonnaise on toast was handed over.

"... Y-You? Have I ever told you how amazing you are?"

"Not in those exact words. But please, continue."

* * *

><p>The tape measure was stretched across the desk. Each item was lined up at the inch or half-inch, depending on the size and what needed to be where. It was perfect, as it should be. The tape measure was carefully retracted.<p>

The stacks of pamphlets were carefully lined up with one another and put in a holder. _Pregnancy: Because _Teen Mom_ is Cool_ was between _I Want to Die: Is Suicide the Option?_ and _What Color is Your Poo in the Morning?_ All was in order and perfect, as it should be. The holders were set aside at exactly half an inch apart.

The tape measure was tucked into the desk drawer. It could have a quick ten minute break before it was taken out and used again. The window wiper was busted out to keep the window perfect, as it should be. The students would be arriving shortly for another year and messing with the glass, which was a sin against nature.

* * *

><p>A year at McKinley could not be longer. But students came and students went, never seeing faces for longer than seven years, when the education stopped being free. There were cliques and slushie facials and dumpster dives, as tradition. Freshman Friday was still a popular affair.<p>

Singing and dancing was still for pansies.

Glee Club hadn't seen darker days since when Sandy Ryerson (no relation to Ned) was in charge. All of five members, not exactly enthused, were apart of the Glee Club by this time. They constantly teeter between having fun and quitting. All of the members are sophomores as of today, and are no longer as naïve as they used to be. They're going to quit Glee Club...

… Today.

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><p>"Everyone knows the plan, right?"<p>

"Obviously. We've only spent the last two weeks of our freedom going over your screwed up, so-called plan."

The five members walked in sync. They would quit fast and rip it off like a band-aid. They didn't want to hurt Mr. Schuester's feelings; he was a really nice guy. But being in Glee Club would do nothing for their image, and image was everything in High School.

As they made it through the front doors, they split off. They would never be seen with each other in _public_.

One headed off to a group of Cheerios—she was newly accepted this year. She knew the responsibilities and harshness of the coach, and she was willing to accept this. She was going to work to get to the top of that pyramid, Head Cheerio. She was a year late on the bull, and hoped she could still manage it. Glee Club would ruin her; no one can be apart of the highest social ring _and_ the geek squad.

Another headed off with the hockey guys. He was often shoved around for being in that fag club. He was the one that tossed around the thought of quitting as a constant. But he liked Glee, he did, which is why he's stayed with it so long. An outlet that sports itself cannot quell. He can't walk the line between popular and loser for any longer, though. His team had threatened to slushie him if he continued for another year. So he just couldn't.

Two others headed off on their own; they were just losers. But slushies and locker slams were just too much to have _all_ _the_ _time._ Joining glee was a joint choice between them, but they fell from the first floor to the sub-basement with that choice. No one noticed they were there until they joined Glee a month into last year. Suddenly, they were noticed, and not in the good way. It was time to bring the endless suffering to an end.

The last one just wandered. No friend in sight. Nowhere to feel safe, no one to feel safe with. Just wandering, barely making it to class on time. What was the point of it all, really? Was there an ultimate reason to making it to class with a smile, acting like nothing was wrong? Glee Club was everything. It the only safe haven, even if it was just temporary. Getting behind that plan was not something of choice; everyone else wanted to, so they voted. 4 to 1, outnumbered.

Not a single one of them paid any attention to the two new teachers wandering the halls in the morning. It could be that none of them passed that way or they just didn't care. But the new teachers were ready to tear the place apart, starting with their respective classrooms. And it wasn't exactly fate that all of the glee members had at least one of the new teachers. It was scheduling.

Life at McKinley High School just got interesting.

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><p><strong>Anyone who correctly guesses the four people, what sandwich belongs to who, and who the new teachers are gets a Red Vine!<strong>

**I originally planned this as a oneshot, but I decided to split it up into two. Let's see how it works out.**


	2. On Top

**It has been brought to my attention that I haven't named the students. I know. It was on purpose. I didn't think it would be _that_ confusing, I mean... I only mentioned them towards the end and just to give a little background on why they were quitting and... stuff... Colon left parenthesis! **

**And I've kept that up for this chapter, because I want you guys to run away with your imaginations. They'll be yours to hug and pet and squeeze and pat and pet and rub and caress and name George if you want. Then again...**

**But in other news, this is the most serious story I've published on fanfiction. I usually aim to make people laugh or cry or, well, both. I just have this inability to stay completely serious. So this chapter is more lighthearted than the one before. The other chapter was really stressful to write. I mainly write for fun and to get away from Glee withdrawals and stress. OXYMORON!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. You should know this.**

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><p>Finally, lunchtime. The morning had been a stressful one all around...<p>

"_Repita después de mí_." The class was less than excited (who would want to repeat after the teacher like Kindergarteners?), but there was an obvious way to get them involved and find out who actually knew what they were doing. "_Yo soy un idiota que sólo quiere un fácil Una_!"

The class recited. Every last one of them. Albeit poorly, but they did. Making fun of this would be such a petty thing to do, and would just be immoral. Milking it for all it was worth on the other hand...

"_Me gusta patear perros salchicha_."

Again, they poorly recited what they were told. Not a single one of them had any clue what they had just said. They watched the teacher tut and pace in front of the class. Most of them knew this guy was a nutcase and wanted to see if they could steal a good grade out of him. Only a few were enunciating and _trying_ to learn. That made things quite easy.

"You all just told me that you were idiots that just wanted an easy A, and you enjoy kicking wiener dogs."

Outrage. Uproar. Protest. Angry mob. Be what it may, they were making a lot of noise. Faint laughter was barely heard over it all and it wasn't until the teacher raised a hand that the laughter was heard more clearly. Coming from the teacher.

"This is our first class together," the teacher started, "and it obviously won't be our last. Lesson number one..." _Which you obviously need_... "...is words that sound like their English meanings! "_Idiota"_ sounds a lot like "idiot", doesn't it?"

… but that was all over now.

William sat down at an empty table. The other teachers that were in the staff room kept to themselves. He wasn't bothered by the sounds of "bink" he heard. They had been calling him names all day and for a few years past. He just sighed deeply and unpacked his lunch.

Taking a bite of his egg salad sandwich, he started to think of ways to get New Directions back on the map. They could bust out in the courtyard, but with only five members the epic level would be in the negative. They could sing for homecoming, but again the numbers would be a problem. They would _have_ to recruit members the old-fashioned way before doing anything big and drastic.

And if last year was any indication, the old-fashioned way sucks.

He caught Emma's eye from another table. She quickly diverted her gaze and turned back to the boring science teacher droning on about how wrong dissection was. She was taking rabbit bites from her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, just like he remembered. But she didn't want to be seen near him anymore. Maybe if he straightened out and Glee Club was at least a plausible dream again...

"If only there were some way!" he cried to himself. He attracted only some attention, if one counted being poked and called a "bink." He didn't even bother to see who had poked him, he deserved it. He's been talking to himself a lot recently.

"Oh, but there is."

He never actually _answered _himself before, though.

Mr. Schuester, the crazy Spanish teacher and Glee Club instructor, looked up to meet two pairs of eyes. One was hazel, and the other was an odd mixture of hazel and blue and grey. Glasz, he believed someone called it once. But he knew these eyes. Yes, he knew them. He should, he taught those eyes himself. But why were these eyes here now?

"What are you two doing here?" Will asked. His two former students just smiled and removed their own lunches. The hazel had a toasted bread bologna and cheese and the glasz had a turkey with what appeared to be lettuce. He looked from the eyes to the food and back to the eyes. The eyes were smiling.

"You called us here, remember?" the hazel eyes laughed as he took a bite of his sandwich. It was good to know they were having a good time at his expense. "I mean, it's not like we want to be here. Your imagination conjured us up so you can have someone to rant to. Right, Kurt?"

The glasz eyes nodded. "Sad, really. You're losing it, Mr. Schue. Cream, Blaine?"

William didn't notice they both had coffee until that moment. Blaine was holding out his cup and allowing Kurt to put a dash of cream into it. It was disturbing, to say the least, how suddenly there's an entire coffee workshop running before him that he could _swear_ wasn't there before. Then again, he had been staring into their eyes and not at the table, so it may well have been there.

"I didn't... imagine you two to come here, did I?" Mr. Schuester asked. He had been losing his mind lately, but never had he actually imagined people to sit down and eat lunch with him so he could feel better and brainstorm ideas with himself.

"No, of course not!" Kurt sighed. He rolled his eyes and began to speak as if to a child. "Mr. Schue. I know that, what with your obsession with Journey and all, you are old fashioned and just a little bit on the crazy side. But I'm sure that you don't have the imagination capacity to envision _us_ eating lunch with _you_."

Mr. Schuester was about to take offense, when he realized Kurt was probably right.

"Okay. So I'm not imagining you." Kurt and Blaine nodded in unison. "That means you're really here." They nodded again, each taking a bite of their sandwiches. "Why?"

They chewed carefully, unsure of how to answer that question. It was Blaine that finished first, and answered, "We work here."

Mr. Schue, who had been taking a sip of the coffee Kurt so kindly offered him, began to choke. No one came to his aid, not even the boys—no, _men_ he was sitting with. But once he regained himself, he managed to croak, "What?"

"Once again, William, you managed to nearly die and not scare away the rats that have made your head their nest."

Will closed his eyes before addressing the woman. He didn't need to turn around to know who it was. "Good morning to you, too, Sue. How was your summer?"

She strode over to where the three men were sitting. "Same old, same old, Will. Went to the beach, threw a lifeguard in the water, terrified lesser beings with a cry of 'Shark!'"

"This is Ohio. There is no beach," he pointed out. But Sue wasn't paying attention to him anymore. She had turned to the other two who were lightly smiling at her.

"If it isn't Porcelain and Fine China. Where's the rest of the ragtag has-beens?" Blaine and Kurt just shrugged and returned to their sandwiches. Kurt seemed distressed in some way. Sue dismissed it. "I've got news for you two. I'm not out to destroy the Glee Club anymore." Both of them gagged before turning back to Sue with questioning looks. "There's nothing to destroy."

She turned and left. The room that had gone quiet with her entrance returned to a room of laughter and catching up. William kept his head down, but he could feel the two pairs of eyes burn a hole into his very soul.

"Mr. Schue, is there something you're not telling us?"

He took a deep breath before admitting to his ex-students, "New Directions has all of five members." He heard the sharp intakes of breath. He plowed on. "Even now, I feel like I'm losing them."

"You don't think we...?"

"Yes, we should."

William looked up and watched them have a conversation. He couldn't follow, but apparently they knew exactly what the other was talking about.

"But that would be crazy."

"A little, yes. Still has to be done."

"You said that last time."

"And it worked out perfectly!"

"In _your_ eyes. _I_ ended up feeling like an idiot."

"Blaine. I have six ways I can respond to that. And you're not going to like any of them."

Will figured it was time to cut in. "What are you guys going on about?"

Kurt intervened before Blaine could. "We're going to help you put New Directions on top."

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><p>It was the end of the day by now, and the students had had as bad of a day as their teachers. As the students scurried off to whatever extracurricular activities they had signed up for, the teachers made their way to their offices to grade papers or to the classrooms to lead the aforementioned activities.<p>

The five Glee Clubbers were among these people. However, by the end of the day they would no longer be Glee Clubbers if the plan to quit went through. They were all sitting nicely, three on the bottom row of chairs and two on the second row, when Mr. Schue walked in. He looked eager, and it nearly broke their hearts.

"Mr. Schuester, we all have something to say," the Cheerio began, standing. Mr. Schue held up his hand to stop her.

"Me first, guys." The Cheerio grudgingly sat and folded her arms. She could be patient for a little while. She just had to make it to Cheerio practice soon or Coach Sylvester would not hesitate to skin her alive.

"I just wanted to say that you guys have been amazing. You've stuck with me through all of last year, regardless of the hell the rest of the school put you through." With each word, the students sunk lower and lower and felt guiltier and guiltier. "I have high hopes for you guys this year and I know you'll all pull through! When we're finished with this year, New Directions will be running the place! Or at least, not the plankton on the food chain.

"Now I know you guys are discouraged from last year with the food-flinging at the performances, but I promise it will be different this year! Want to know why?" He waited for a reaction, but when he got none he just continued. "We've got two new co-directors this year that will help me in teaching you guys! Please welcome Mr. Hummel and Mr. Anderson!"

The students watched as Kurt strode in like a champion, confidence brimming and ready to take on the world. He was the embodiment of courageous, everything he'd striven to be back in his high school time. He was still very fashionable (who could lose that valuable skill?) and ready to reclaim his rightful title as Head Bitch.

He barely made it over the threshold before he turned and left the room.

He reappeared, entering the same way with the same confidence about him. Confidence that popped like a balloon right after he entered. He turned around and left, only to reappear with confidence again. This time, when he made it over the threshold, he cried out in frustration.

"Is it _so_ hard to enter on my right foot, exhale at the same time with my hands on my hips and looking dramatically off to the left at an approximate thirty-five degree angle?" He turned in a circle and fidgeted compulsively before turning to Schuester. "Alright, one more time." He turned and left. Again. Moments passed.

He poked his head in and waved his hand for Mr. Schue to go ahead. He vanished from the doorway once more.

Mr. Schue cleared his throat. "Okay... well, uh, please welcome Mr. Hummel and Mr. Anderson?"

This time Kurt didn't even bother trying. He came jogging in and once he was partly into the room, he executed a front handspring that made the Cheerio drool slightly. It was a move reminiscent of a younger Kurt, but a move he still remembered acutely. He figured if he couldn't get the right-exhale-hands-on-hips dramatization down yet, he could go for a shock entrance.

He clapped the dirt off his hands before going over to the awed students. He _had_ shocked them and he liked that. But it was calling too strongly to be ignored...

"Bink," he said as he poked the Cheerio.

"Bink. Bink," as he poked the two outcasts.

"Bink," as he poked the hockey player.

"Bink," as he finished with the loner.

He seemed pleased with himself as he strolled over to Mr. Schue and stood next to him. Discretely, he reached over and poked him with a "bink".

Blaine strolled in after him, apparently taking note of something on a clipboard. The students didn't notice him as much; they felt violated in the way they were just poked by a loon. Blaine planted himself next to Kurt and didn't look up as he was poked with a whispered "bink".

"Mr. Schue, who are these people?" the hockey goalie asked. "And why were we just violated with a cry of... uhh... 'bink'?"

"Kurt Hummel, pleasure to meet you all," Kurt cut in before William could explain. "I know that I have you in my class"—he pointed to the loner—"but that's all I know."

"What do you guys teach, then?" the loudmouth Cheerio inquired.

"I teach English, he teaches French," Blaine explained curtly. "Come to think of it, it's like a Language Teacher Convention up in here."

"Oh joy," deadpanned an outcast.

"Just what I've always wanted to be apart of," deadpanned the other.

"Alright, alright," Mr. Schue held up his hands. "Enough. Now this is going to be a strange transition for all of us, but I know we can get through it."

"Actually, Mr. Schue, that's the thing," the Cheerio began again. She couldn't be patient any longer. "All of us came to the decision to uh... quit Glee Club."

No one moved for a few minutes. No one could say anything. They could only hope things would turn out alright. But as it happens, someone has to break the monotony.

"... They sure are keepers," Kurt quipped. But Schuester was too far gone. His own students were leaving him. All of them were leaving the Glee Club to collapse and, maybe, never again rise from the ashes. He sighed.

"Go."

"Mr. Schue, we—"

"Just go."

The students obliged and left the choir room in silence.

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><p><strong>I ask two things of... whoever reads this. One, if I should continue the story and make it a real, multichaptered, time consuming piece of "art". And Two, if One is yes, I need ideas for the names of the characters. *salutes* Thank you for your service!<strong>


	3. Shadowing

**I had far too much spare time on my hands. I got bored doing an essay about Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (still have to find out his contributions to mankind... huh) and wrote this. Guess that means I'm going to continue it!**

–

Days passed. Sign-ups were put up. Effort was put forth by the three co-directors. They hatched plans, they disposed of ones too risky (fireworks would've been amazing, if they were legal on school grounds). They tried bribery, but even that didn't work. No one wanted to be a Gloser.

By Day Four, they stopped having regular meetings.

By Day Ten, they gave up hope.

By Day Fourteen, they all stopped mentioning it.

It was on Day Eighteen that things looked up for the first time.

"..._En raison classe supérieure_!" Mr. Hummel quickly added as the bell rang. The students packed up and left the room through the door that always seemed to be ajar. Luckily, Kurt didn't have a class next block, leaving him to relax. And scrape all that icky gum off from under the desks.

"Monsieur Hummel?"

Kurt turned from erasing the board to face one of his students. "Alex? Is something the matter?"

With bone-straight hair of dark strawberry blonde that fell across her shoulders and eyes like teak wood, Alex was a beautiful girl growing to be a fine woman. It's a shame she had no friends.

"Monsieur Hummel, I want to rejoin Glee Club," she said firmly. Kurt fought a snort as hard as he could, but a snigger still escaped. He really shouldn't be laughing; Alex hardly ever speaks up, let alone _firmly_.

"Alex, you realize you'd be the only student?" Kurt pointed out. Surprisingly, Alex nodded. "You know that we can't really do anything with only one student?" Alex nodded again. "You remember when you quit the first time?"

"In my defense, it was put to a vote and I was outnumbered."

"Why on Earth would you want to rejoin now? There's nothing left _to _rejoin," Kurt said, exasperated. Alex looked at her shoes. She had receded back to being that quiet and alone girl she always was. When she spoke, it was hardly above a whisper.

"We still meet with each other. Every Thursday after school at Andrew's."

This was news to Kurt. As far as he was aware, the former Glee members had split up and never glanced each other's way unless they had the same social standing. He hadn't paid much attention to the current stand of the school, however. He was far too busy grading papers and deciphering the horrid French to do something like that.

"Today... is Thursday," Kurt realized after a moment. Alex only continued to breathe. "Wait, why are you telling me this?"

"Because last meeting we were worried about your guys' sanity." Kurt turned to the board to hide his face. He could quell the laughter that was rising, but the grin would give him away. _Sane_! "We think that, without New Directions, Mr. Schue might go over the deep end."

Kurt sighed and turned back to Alex. He had regained control of his smile and had turned it into a small, sad one. "Mr. Schuester cannonballed off the deep end long ago. The most recent failure of New Directions hasn't changed that."

Alex sighed and turned to leave. Just before she left, she looked back. "Most recent?"

"Another story for another time. Now get to class or you'll be late."

–

"... and then she told me they all met on Thursdays after school at Andrew's."

It had been two weeks since their last meeting and they were back at it again. They sat around the English room eating their lunches, for Kurt blatantly refused to eat in the staff lunchroom ("That's a nightmare, Mr. Schue. Far too many people to Bink.") and twitched at the thought of crumbs on his classroom floor. Blaine and William listened closely as Kurt told them the story of Alex. They were as puzzled as Kurt.

"There's no reason to tell you that they all meet, is there?" Blaine questioned. "Unless... Alex wants us to come and watch."

"And how exactly are we to do that?" Kurt laughed. "Peek through the window like stalkers? I don't think so."

"There's a good chance the others don't know Alex told you about their hanging out," Will added. He took a bite of his trademark chocolate chip cookie.

"That's true." Kurt finished his sandwich and promptly began to carefully clean Blaine's desk with the products he kept in his pockets. Every has miniature Mr. Clean products in their pockets all the time nowadays, right? "Should we go?"

"Of course!"

"Of course not!"

Kurt looked up and glanced back and forth from Blaine to Will. They were looking at each other.

"I say you go," Will spoke, finally.

"You were the one that said they probably didn't know Alex told Kurt about their meetings," Blaine rolled his eyes. "Why should we go?"

"Because," Will said, "Alex invited Kurt for a reason. Whether it be because she wants to get everyone to rejoin Glee or just because she wants him to see they still care about each other, I won't pretend to know. But there's a reason, and Kurt should definitely take the opportunity."

"I see where you're coming from, I suppose."

"Woah," Kurt held up his hands. "Who exactly is going on this wild spy expedition?"

"You."

"Us."

Kurt glanced between Blaine and Will. They were glaring at each other this time.

"_We're_ going," Blaine stressed. "Plural. As in: all of us."

"The invitation was issued to Kurt only. If we went along, we might be intruding," Will reasoned.

"Intruding on what exactly?"

"They're teenagers! Intruding on literally anything."

"Very well! Okay! Fine! Alright! Enough!" Kurt interrupted. He had finished cleaning and, while the battle was epic, it had to be broken up. "Mr. Schue, I'm going and you can come along if you want or if you don't that's fine, but Blaine is bound by law to come with me."

Blaine nodded to William in confirmation and mouthed 'It's true'.

"The only issue is that I have no idea who Andrew is nor where he lives."

Will laughed. "Andrew was the jock of Glee. The hockey player?" Kurt's face dawned in comprehension. Mr. Schue had told them about the students, but the names were fleeting. It was a very long time ago, now. "And I don't know where he lives, either."

Kurt bowed his head. "Here Lies The Spy Plan. It Failed."

"Not necessarily," Will smiled. That smile. A kind of creepy smile. A creepy smile that smiles... creepily. "Alex said they hung out right after school." Kurt and Blaine looked on in a skeptical sort of manner. "All you have to do is follow them."

"Easier said than done," Blaine said. "You're the one that said they were teenagers. They're not just going to condense in the same place. Especially not on school grounds."

"Why are you using my words against me?" William asked, not unkindly.

"It's easier to make a point that way," Blaine shrugged.

"Blaine's right, though. They're going to take different paths, maybe leave at different times," Kurt frowned.

"All you have to do is follow Andrew. He's the one going home, isn't he?" Will smiled. His eyes twinkled.

The bell rang and they headed back to their appropriate classrooms.

–

The halls emptied at the end of Little Friday. It was a giant river leading away from the classrooms as fast as possible, bar a few salmon going back for forgotten items.

The first one of the Glee Clubbers gone: Alex. She had nothing to tie her to school once everyone was released. She grabbed her backpack and Algebra II book (she was a year ahead in math; so what?) and bolted out the door. She left with her dad in his old and dented red truck that everyone sneers looks like Bella Swan's. Saying so just admitted they've seen the movies.

The second Glee Clubber gone: Julia. Her mother demanded she was left right after cheerleading was over and for some unnatural reason, Coach Sylvester wasn't doing after-school practices at current time. They did, however, meet at 4am to run through the rigorous training exercises. Maybe she thought the morning was more torturous? Her mother didn't trust Andrew, but she trusted Mira and allowed Julia to go to Andrew's because she knew that Mira would be there. Julia wondered how her mother even knew Mira existed.

The third and fourth Glee Clubbers gone: Miles and Mira. The twins were hardly ever separated at school, and now was no different. They were in the same social standing, why should they bother attempting to go it alone when they could stick with each other? They headed to their car. Both couldn't wait until they could drive without a licensed adult. Driving around with your older brother all the time was just embarrassing.

The last of the Glee Clubbers gone was Andrew. _Finally_.

"That's him, isn't it?"

"Looks like it."

Andrew was wearing his hockey jersey and was among a group of guys wearing the _exact _same thing. They broke off and each headed a different way. Some went home, some went to see if they can pick up girls, and some went to see the biggest things they could get away with stealing. Andrew was heading home.

Kurt and Blaine were standing in the English classroom looking out the window. The French class was right next door and had the same view, but they chose to meet in Blaine's room. They had come across a few bumps in the road of the plan to follow Andrew. For one thing, they didn't have a car.

"_I'm not getting in a car."_

"_I know, Kurt. It's not like we have one anyway."_

"_Alright, good. I thought you were thinking of stealing Mr. Schue's or something."_

"_. . ."_

"_No! No car. End of discussion."_

"_We can't very well stalk him home, can we?"_

Turns out they could. Andrew walked home. But then there came the issue of being outside.

"_I can't just follow him, Blaine."_

"_I know. What if I knocked you out?"_

"_Not funny."_

"_Okay... This is quite a puzzle."_

"_What a conundrum."_

"_What if you Binked him and _then_ we followed him?"_

Which explained why they were now making their way outside to intercept Andrew and act like the were heading a different way. It gave Kurt the chance to Bink him and be content when they followed him home. They could only hope that they wouldn't run into anyone on the way. Which led to another problem.

"_If he hears you Binking someone, our cover is blown."_

"_Then he just won't hear me Bink. I'm content with a whisper."_

"_You never fail to amaze me."_

They were following him in the Goldilocks Zone now. Not too close, not too far, but just right. Andrew didn't look behind him and everything was going great. Even Andrew's singing was nice. And for the first time since either of them could remember, nothing went wrong. Right away.

–

Andrew was enjoying Ke$ha's newest hit too much to know there were teachers behind him. His house was within walking distance, but it got boring walking with nothing to entertain you. So he brought his iPod to school everyday, just for this walk home. It allowed him to let out his voice for a while, especially since he no longer had Glee.

When he made it to his house, he saw that Alex was sitting on his front steps. She had her hands folded on her lap and she watched him approach. He took out his earbuds and went over to her.

"You could've gone inside. You know the door's unlocked." He rolled his earbuds up around his dinosauric iPod as he spoke.

"I know. I was just..." Alex averted her eyes. "Waiting."

"Get inside, Alex. You can't sit here forever. You'll freeze."

"It wouldn't change much. But I guess I will," Alex conceded. Andrew saw her eyes flicker towards the children's park that was his neighbor. He had come from that direction. When he glanced over to see what she was looking at, he only saw a child slowing down on the swings. He didn't think much of it.

Andrew held the door open for Alex as they went inside. Julia, Miles, and Mira had already arrived and were enjoying the cookies and hot chocolate Andrew's mother had made.

–

"Is that his house?" Blaine whispered to Kurt. They were approaching a big, sky blue house with a park next to it.

"I think so. Is that Alex on the steps?" Kurt squinted to see.

"Oh, _shii_take mushrooms," Blaine almost cursed. He slipped into the park with Kurt immediately following after him. Blaine ducked behind the hedges that separated Andrew's house from the park. Kurt crouched next to him, not letting anything touch the dirt but his shoes and his shoes touch nothing but the dirt. He was fidgeting.

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered shakily. He fixed his sights on a single leaf of the bush. "There's Alex on the steps and a boy on the swings behind us."

Without bothering to glance back to see if it was true, Blaine took Kurt's hand and started tapping his palm. _Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap._ He paused. _Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap_. Kurt was breathing in and out deeply with his eyes shut, focusing only on the rhythmic tapping. When Blaine had tapped five sets of five, he stopped and removed his hand.

"Alex went inside. I think the boy got my message when I glared at him, and he left, too," Blaine said quietly. He fished a sanitizing wipe from the pack in his pocket and wiped Kurt's hand for him.

"Thanks," Kurt nodded. "Let's go see what those teenagers are up to." Blaine agreed and they stood up. They crept towards the house quietly.

–

**Yerp. I got a tumblr yesterday. HELL YEAH! I'M MOVING UP! Now I just need a facebook, twitter, and whatever else everyone is obsessed with. Don't think that's going to happen, though.**


	4. Not Much of a Mystery

**I've watched Starship nearly ten times already and am listening to the soundtrack as I write this chapter. EPICSAAAAAUCE!**

**To recap: Kurt and Blaine played the stalker role and followed Andrew home.**

**'s about it.**

* * *

><p>Alex sat down on the couch next to Miles and reached for a cookie. She was more relaxed and outgoing when she was closed up with people she knew and trusted.<p>

"So, how was your guys' week?" she asked, taking a bite of the warm cookie. They had just come out of the oven and chocolate chips were gooey and amazing. They were so much better than the Pillsbury's from a can that she always burned.

"Boring," Andrew said with his mouth full.

"Same," Julia, next to Andrew on the other couch, sighed. "The most interesting thing was Coach Sylvester yelling at us."

"Do tell," Alex urged. She always loved hearing about the antics of the crazy Coach.

"She told us to stop crying about 4am practices, or she'll give us something _real_ to cry about," Julia grimaced. Alex and Andrew laughed with Julia joining in. Miles and Mira stayed silent.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Kurt and Blaine were trying to peer through the window as discretely as possible.<p>

"What do you think they're laughing about?" Blaine asked.

"Not sure. I didn't know windows were soundproof these days."

They stole a glance at each other and stifled their giggles. They could be completely immature when they wanted to be. And looking through a window at a group of teenagers just peaked the immaturity scale. But soundproof windows? Cogs were starting to turn in Kurt's head. He wanted to figure it out. Don't think _why_ the windows were soundproof, but _what would happen_ if they weren't?

"I want to know what they're laughing about," Blaine stated once he had calmed down. Kurt groaned.

"Let me guess," he said. He put his finger on his chin in mock thought. "Sing to get their attention?"

"Precisely. The only issue is the lack of music."

"Wait a second, tha—no... I'm probably wrong," Kurt sighed. He leaned out of the window's view.

"What is it?" Blaine asked. He stopped looking through the window, too.

"No, it's stupid." Kurt folded his arms self-consciously. "If I tell you you'll think I'm stupid and then I'll be embarrassed."

"Kurt, you don't have to be embarrassed in front of me! We've known each other for years. Nothing you say could ever make me think you're stupid."

"Well..."

* * *

><p>"And then she brought her bullhorn up her lips," Julia said dramatically. "And she said "You think this is hard? Try spotting a sneaky gay, that's hard!" and then she told us to run it again, with only five minutes until class started."<p>

"That sucks," Andrew sympathized.

"That's hilarious!" Alex managed to say through her laughing. She wiped the tears away. Miles and Mira remained silent, munching on cookies.

"Hey, you guys up for karaoke?" Andrew asked. All of them nodded, so Andrew went over to the TV and flipped on his karaoke machine. He set the two microphones down on the coffee table between the two couches and went back to pick one of the songs. It had popular songs from as far back as Andrew's great-grandparents, as suggested by_ Remember The Hits!_,the name of the karaoke set.

"Let's do some M.J.!" Julia shouted with a laugh.

"Never Gonna Give You Up!" Alex cheered. Julia threw a couch cushion at her.

"_Never gonna let you down,_" Miles continued monotonously.

"Guys, no!" Julia shrieked. She _hated_ that song. The last thing she wanted to see was Rick Astley make another comeback!

"We're also... _No strangers to love_," Mira whispered ominously.

"No!"

"_You know the rules..._" Andrew continued, his smile widening.

"_And so do I_."

They looked around. Where did that come from? None of them had sung that. Julia curled up on the couch, trying to become as small as possible. Mira took Miles' hand and they slipped into another lapse of silence. Andrew froze where he was, like a deer in headlights. Alex was eagerly trying to find out who just sang a line of her second favorite song.

They all nearly jumped out of their seats when they heard a noise. It shook their eardrums and spread cold through their veins. It sucked the saliva from their mouths, leaving a feeling of desert. It grabbed their hearts like an unforgiving iron fist. It punched them so hard, the air escaped their lungs as they fought to pull it back in. It was a noise so familiar, yet so utterly terrifying.

It was the doorbell ringing.

Naturally, they all felt foolish.

Andrew stood up straight and wiped the stupid look off his face as he went over and opened the door.

"Hey, I'm here to deliver this pizza."

The deer in headlights look plastered itself to Andrew's face again. He didn't even bother to hide it."We didn't order pizza." He blinked a few times before he added, "And _what are you_?"

The pizza deliverer was in a costume so wild, Andrew couldn't even tell what he was suppose to be. The guy had brown antennae that stuck out of his pizza baseball hat and plastic strapped to his back that seemed to look like wings. He had on a furry mask that looked like it wasn't originally the dirt color it was now. The gloves he wore went up to his elbows and were scaly and slimy and a sickly green; tight enough that they looked like they could very well be spray painted on. His clothes looked like something out of an old wizard movie: blue robes covered in yellow moons and stars.

"Don't ask. That'll be seven seventy-five," the bug-reptile-wizard-pizza delivery man said.

"But we didn't order pizza," Andrew explained. He started to step outside when the chimera man stopped him.

"Sorry, sir. You can't step outside. Last week, one of our own was stabbed and robbed when the client stepped outside. Sorry for the inconvenience." The delivery thing still waited for the money.

"We didn't order pizza."

"This is the Throe household, right?" The pizza guy shifted the box to his other hand.

"Yeah."

"And you're Andrew?"

"Yeah."

"Here's your pizza. Seven seventy-five, please." The guy handed the pizza off to a surprised Andrew. He was just about to explain that he didn't have any money when Miles and Mira appeared behind him, the former taking out his wallet.

"We'll pay, Andrew. It's fine," Miles said quietly. He paid the guy and shut the door. Andrew headed back to the living room with the pizza as the twins followed closely behind him.

"Hey, girls. Apparently, we've got some pizza! … Girls?" Andrew looked about, to no success. The girls weren't in the room. He set the pizza on the coffee table and slipped through the house, calling for them. Maybe they had gone to the bathroom.

_At the same time? _a voice in his head spoke up. He ignored it. He slipped into every room in his house (which wasn't hard; there was only one floor) only to return to the living room.

"That's strange. It's like they disappeared. Maybe they had to go home. What do you think, guys?" Andrew asked the twins.

"... Guys?"

They were gone, too.

Now Andrew was really freaked out. It was like a horror movie; picked off one by one. But by remember his mom was in her office just down the hall gave him consolation that there was no way a struggle went down.

_Her office is soundproof, remember? _the voice pipped up again.

Andrew swallowed with difficulty. For a scary movie, it wasn't all that scary. The only thing disrupted was that the pizza box was open.

Open.

He went over to it and was disappointed to find there was no pizza inside. Instead, only a note.

_RTH: Number 25_

Next to it, a drawing of a microphone. It took Andrew a minute (he wasn't the brightest person in the world) to figure out that RTH meant _Remember the Hits! _and twenty-five must be the song. But... why? Why should he bother? He had better things to do; like find out where everyone went.

* * *

><p>He did another route of the house, hoping to find them. His mom's car was still there, so they couldn't have stolen it. Andrew soon ran out of options.<p>

Why would someone try to make him pay eight bucks for a pizza that didn't have pizza in it? He didn't like thinking very much. He preferred to "do" rather than "think", so he went ahead and flipped to twenty-five on _Remember the Hits!_ He wasn't quite sure what whoever sent this to him wanted, but he did it anyway. Maybe his friends were being held hostage! They were going to die if he didn't complete the captor's every wish!

It made the situation more exciting, at least.

When the music started, the sheer volume made him jump. Thank God his mom was in a soundproof office. He reached for the remote to turn it down to find it taped firmly to the counter. It wasn't suppose to be turned down.

Amazingly, Andrew could hear a voice when it started. It was way better than his.

_You think I'm pretty without any makeup on._

_You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong._

Seriously. Seriously? His friend's captors were singing Katy Perry? Were they going to shoot them with rainbows and ponies?

_Before you met me, I was alright,_

_But things were kinda heavy; you brought me to life._

Andrew flung open the door. There, on his front steps, were Julia, Alex, Mira, and Miles. They were sitting, chilling, acting like nothing was wrong. Alex turned when Andrew opened the door and gestured for him to stay back before pointing to what the others were watching.

_Let's go all the way tonight._

_No regrets, just love._

What the hell was that pizza delivery guy doing?

_We can dance until we die._

_You and I will be young forever!_

When the chorus started, it wasn't just the screwed-up guy singing. All of the girls had joined in and were either swaying (Mira) or got right up and really danced next to the guy (he didn't know the other girls. Honest). They were jumping up and down and everything.

_You make me feel like I'm living a _

_Teenage Dream! The way you turn me on._

_I can't sleep, let's run away_

_And don't ever look back!_

_Don't ever look back!_

Andrew facepalmed as the craziest pair of girls he'd ever met effortlessly joined the guy's choreography. He wasn't even aware there _was_ choreography for that song.

He stepped over the threshold and sat next to the swaying Mira. He jumped when he felt a finger graze his shoulder. He turned and saw another guy dressed as a giant bug. The good thing about this guy was that he wasn't so mismatched and actually had a plan going for his disguise. The bad thing was that he started to sing.

_We drove to Cali and got drunk on the beach._

_Got a motel and built a fort out of sheets._

_I finally found you, my missing puzzle piece._

_I'm complete._

The two bug-things sang the pre-chorus as two girls whooped, cheered, and laughed. Once the chorus came around again, they all sang out with it. Andrew was horrified to find Mira and Miles singing it, too. They didn't _know_ these people. They could be psycho-murderers!

Julia and Alex finished out the rest of the song as the two costume-artists started walking down the street. The girls were so wrapped up in the song that they didn't notice, but Andrew did. He was glad when the song finally came to an end.

But it didn't. The girls kept talking about how fun and exciting it was to just burst into song and dance around for the heck of it. Mira and Miles even contributed to the conversation, a miracle in itself.

"It was so much fun getting kidnapped!"

"I want to do it again!"

"Miles, Mira, you wouldn't believe! They tickled me until I revealed the name of Andy's karaoke set!"

"Oh yeah, Alex? They tickled _me_ until I revealed what number Teenage Dream was."

"That makes sense. There was an empty sticky note in the box when we looked for pizza."

"They must've come in and penned it in before Andrew got back!"

Andrew was the one sitting in silence and he felt an awful lot like a bump on a log.

* * *

><p>"Well, think about it. At least we know they're clean?"<p>

"If you call a simple wash of soap and water "clean", then yes, they're clean."

"They're also shiny, I guess."

"Did you really think shoe polish would work?"

"Don't judge me! … God, it's burning!"

"That's why you don't put bleach on your _skin_, Blaine. It does burn."

Blaine was leaning forward on the piano, his forearms resting heavily on it. He had his head bowed and his forearms were distinctively green and shiny, like scales. Kurt was to his right, dressed in rubber doctor gloves, thick goggles and an apron and using tweezers to pick the green coating off of Blaine's right arm. So far, it looked like he had finished a patch the size of a quarter. On one arm.

A student stepped in sight of the room, but didn't step in. "Mr. Anderson? Monsieur Hummel?"

Neither bothered to look up. They just hummed in recognition that someone was there. She continued, "Erm... what happened?"

Kurt started as he scraped a tiny portion away, "It started with Mr. Anderson being an idiot and ended with the gloves he was wearing melding into his skin."

"The campers shouldn't have been there anyway," Blaine muttered.

"Ah. Well, uh, I want to rejoin New Directions."

Kurt plucked another bit of the substance away and tapped the tweezers on the edge of the surgical pan he was using. He didn't look up from the next bit of scale he was going to remove. "We've been over this, Alex. You'd be the only one."

"No, she won't," another voice spoke up.

At this, both teachers looked up. There, in the doorway, was Alex as expected. But flanked at her sides were Julia, Mira, and Miles.

Andrew was nowhere to be found.

* * *

><p><strong>I can't <em>wait<em> for Prom!**

**Any other teenage girl who says this would probably be referring to their prom and the hot guy they're going with. Not me. I'm referring to the Glee episode in which we see Klaine again. It's been almost two freakin' weeks! I don't know how I survive breaks! **


	5. Birth of a Firefly

***cracks knuckles* Let's get this show on the road!**

**Previously: Julia, Alex, Miles, and Mira have rejoined New Directions after an epic performance of_ Teenage Dream _by people they... *ahem* "don't know". But where's Andrew?**

* * *

><p>The locker slammed shut.<p>

"Hey, guys, we're friends, right?" Julia asked.

"No offense, Jewels, but this is the first time you've spoken to us during school hours," Miles muttered as he and Mira walked to English. Julia walked beside them, despite her having to go to History.

"Yeah, but who cares now?" Julia walked in front of them and turned to cut them off so she could speak. "We need to get Andrew back."

"Duh," Mira shook her head sadly. "What do you want _us_ to do about it? You're a Cheerio. Pull some strings."

They walked around her. Julia spotted Alex and went over to her.

"Hey, Alex, we're friends, right?" Julia asked.

Alex turned to look behind her, as though expecting to see someone else. "Julia, no one talks to me at school. The last thing you need is your reputation taking a plummet."

"Farther than Glee's taken it?" Julia smirked. "Alex, we need to get Andrew back."

"Andrew Throe?"

"No, Andrew Jackson. _Yes_, Andrew Throe! Let's face it Alex," Julia sighed. "Miles can't carry the weight of being the only male singer. No one can."

"Well, Julia, why don't you do something about it? You know he's head-over-heels for you," Alex said bitterly. Julia seemed confused.

"He is? Gross."

"Instead of getting us involved—yes, I saw you talking to the twins—just go do it yourself. Andrew might actually listen to you." Alex left Julia and headed off to Chemistry.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Andrew, you're smart," Kyle, left defense on the team, started. "Do you know how they get the Kissables so small and colorful? Do the Kisses have gay babies?"<p>

"I doubt it," Andrew thought. They were changing in the locker rooms after a difficult practice. "I think they actually use a shrink ray. And they're under a rainbow when they do it. It's the only way that makes sense."

"Nah, you're both wrong," Jason cut in. "It's not even real Kisses. It's M&Ms melted down in the shape of Kisses."

"Oh God, it smells like feet in here."

All of the guys turned to see Julia in her Cheerio's uniform stepping into the locker room. She had her hand covering her eyes and nose. Some of them wolf whistled and called her over, but she was only there for one person.

"Andrew? I need to talk to you." He went over to her and steered her out of the room. The boys groaned. There was something erotic about a girl being in the same room while you changed.

"Julia, what's up? What are you doing here?" he asked as she removed the hand from her eyes. She took a deep, clean breath.

"You have to come back to glee club."

Andrew just scoffed. He really liked Julia, but not enough to go through _that_ again. "Sorry Jewels. In case you haven't noticed, I'm popular. I know that's new territory for you, but it means you can't mix being popular with being a loser. I tried last year and if you try this year, you'll only be more of an outcast than Alex."

"But we need you, Andrew! Yo—"

"No, you don't. You need to quit glee club. Everyone knows that Schuester lost his marbles years ago and that Hummel teacher is an outright lunatic. Don't associate with those people, Julia."

Julia quieted down. It wasn't like her to do so; she would usually continue on, possibly calling him a bitch for reasons unknown. But she stopped. She just looked up at him for a moment.

"I'm so disappointed in you. But you'll be back. Just watch." She turned and left down the hall, Andrew going back into the eavesdropping locker room.

"Damn, man. Julia is _hot_!" Jason whistled. "You've practically got her wrapped around your finger."

"Yeah, whatever," Andrew huffed. "I'm heading out. Later."

* * *

><p>Julia sighed deeply. "I'm out of ideas."<p>

"You had _one_ idea. And you wanted us to go through with it," Miles reminded her. The four students and their three teachers were all trying to think of a plan to get members. Kurt got tired of simply sitting and (after intensively cleaning it) began to play the piano that Blaine, arms still tinged green even after the weekend, was sleeping on with is clipboard as a pillow. It was calming, the tune of Fireflies by Owl City, but it wasn't exactly stimulating their brain waves.

"Could you play a different song, Monsieur Hummel?" Mira asked nicely. Maybe a different song would motivate them.

Kurt raised his fingers from the keys, pausing. "I'll be honest. I can play this, or _I'll Stand By You_. That's literally the extent of my instrumental prowess, despite all of my lessons."

"On second thought, just keep going." Mira leaned her head on Miles' shoulder . Kurt wasted no time continuing.

They sat for another half-hour, just thinking. No one came to their open tryouts, as expected. They had another half-hour of glee left, and they decided to spend it going to the auditorium to sing. None of them could think of a song that they really wanted to do. They decided on one they simply couldn't get out of their heads.

The four students sat on stools on the stage, the three teachers sitting at the white table a few rows back. Alex and Miles sat in the middle, with Julia next to Alex and Mira next to Miles, when the music started. It was Miles who sang first.

_You would not believe your eyes,_

_If ten million fireflies,_

_Lit up the world as I fell asleep._

Miles' voice, while not being strong enough to handle being the only male one, was very versatile. He made it lighter to fit the song well.

_'Cause they'd fill the open air_

_And leave tear drops everywhere._

_You'd think me rude,_

_but I would just stand and... Stare._

All four students picked up the chorus. They swayed as they relaxed into the song. They sang softly, voices not leaving the auditorium. Mira picked up the second verse.

_'Cause I'd get a thousand hugs,_

_From ten thousand lightning bugs,_

_As they tried to teach me how to dance._

Mira's voice was sweet and made for soft or love songs. She was always trying to do better, but never seemed to be able to sing any stronger.

_A foxtrot above my head,_

_A sock hop beneath my bed,_

_A disco ball is just hanging by a thread._

They sang the chorus again, louder and with more freedom. The teachers joined in. It was a welcome break for everyone and they were making the most of it. Julia sang the next portion, with everyone else gently singing the reply.

_Leave my door open just a crack,  
><em>_(Please take me away from here)_

_'Cause I feel like such an insomniac,  
><em>_(Please take me away from here)_

_Why do I tire of counting sheep?  
><em>_(Please take me away from here)_

_When I'm far too tired to fall asleep._

With a deep breath, Alex took the final verse.

_To ten million fireflies,_

_I'm weird 'cause I hate goodbyes,_

_I got misty eyed as they said farewell._

She didn't like singing alone. She liked singing with a group, like a choir. Solos were not her cup of tea.

_But I'll know where several are,_

_If my dreams get real bizarre,_

_'Cause I saved a few and I keep them in a jar._

They sang the next two choruses as a group. The final chorus, however, went to Miles alone.

The seven people in the auditorium sat quietly for moments after the music stopped. None could quite put into words what they were feeling. They started filing out at different times, in ones or twos. Soon, only Kurt and Blaine were left.

And soon, they were gone, too.

* * *

><p><em>Ding Dong!<em>

She quickly opened the door to see who it was. She was confused. "Will?"

"Hey, Emma," he mumbled.

They sat down at the table, opposite of each other. William explained to her what had happened that day and about the need for male singers.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "None of us have any ideas. So I came to you."

"Well, how did you get Finn to join the first time?" she asked. Will thought back to the day he blackmailed Finn by threatening to tell his mother about marijuana that wasn't his.

"Not an option," he replied simply.

"Okay, well, it seems to me that you're trying to hard," Emma sighed. Will tilted his head, wondering what she was talking about. "Just do what comes naturally." He started to formulate a plan. "And I don't mean Journey." He wilted.

"Come on, Will. You have to do what the kids are into _now_."

"You realize that's limited to autotune, drama, and sex?"

"Will..." Emma said, exasperated.

"Keeping it real, Emma."

* * *

><p><em>Ding Dong!<em>

She quickly opened the door to see who it was. She was confused. "Alex?"

"I've got an idea," Alex said shyly. Julia stepped aside to let her in.

"You know it's going on eight o'clock, right? Couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?"

"No way," Alex smiled. "I wanted to run it past you before I told anyone else. This could really hurt someone and I trust you enough to see it how it is. It's not even an idea really, it's stupid. I shouldn't tell you. I just thought maybe it would get Andrew back; it's Andrew, isn't it? It would work. But I don't wa—"

"You're rambling," Julia said in a sing-song voice. Alex flushed with embarrassment and mumbled an apology. "Don't apologize, just keep going. It's okay."

"Right. You know how Monsieur Hummel is crazy?" Alex began.

"No! He _is_?" Julia mocked disbelief.

"Uh, see, no one really knows why," she continued. Julia just tapped her foot impatiently. Her parents could be home at any minute and would skin her alive if they saw Alex there. No friends when there's no parents. "I was thinking maybe we could use that as an advertisement of sorts?"

Julia thought about it. An advertisement to get glee members? How would that work, unless...

"That's a great idea," Julia praised, the solution dawning on her. "Use Mr. Hummel's insanity to gain members! Anyone who joins would be labeled brave and gain major popularity points. Everyone would want to! You're a genius!"

"Bu-But wait!" Alex stopped. Julia rolled her eyes. "I don't want to hurt Monsieur Hummel or anything."

"Don't worry, Alex. Mr. Hummel will never find out. It'll be our little secret..."

* * *

><p>"<em>Ding Dong!<em>"

Kurt slowly turned from his careful slicing to look over his shoulder at Blaine. "Why did you just make that sound?"

"I don't know," Blaine replied honestly. "I just had the sudden urge to be a doorbell."

"I'm the crazy one, not you." Kurt turned back to his ruler and eggplant. Most people wouldn't take "half-inch slices" to the literal. But Kurt Hummel was not most people.

* * *

><p><strong>And now(ow-ow). Ladies and Gentlemen(men-men). GLEE SEASON FINALE(ee-ee).<strong>

***disc scratch* Say WAH? Shit. Only two episodes? Shitter. At least Blaine's in both, that's some consolation. But I guess fanfiction was invented for those breaks between seasons. **


	6. Eaten by the Firefly

**At the beginning of this chapter, I haven't watched Funeral because it is Monday. By the end of this chapter, I will have watched Funeral.**

**Here's what you missed on Gleephobia! (I don't care who you are, that's fun to write) The Glee Kids are trying to find a way to get Andrew back, but none of them have any ideas. Julia tried the straight approach_,_ but that didn't work out. Will turned to Emma, who crushed his only plan. Alex figured out a way, but is against her own idea. She confided in Julia, who plots to put it into action.**

–

"Alright, everyone," Julia began, pacing in the choir room. Alex, Mira, and Miles all sat before her; the teachers were nowhere to be found. "The reason I called you all here before glee starts is simple: I have an idea on how to get Andrew back and gain some new members."

"Um, but it was my—" Alex started quietly, halfway raising her hand.

"We need to give the school what they want!" Julia interrupted as though she hadn't heard Alex. Miles and Mira looked at one another.

"Autotune?"

"Sex?"

"_Blood_?"

"No, drama," Julia said as though it were obvious.

"That was my next guess," Mira pouted so only Miles could hear. He put his arm around her as comfort.

"We need to spread some rumors. Preferably rumors about Mr. Hummel."

"Not preferably!" Alex squeaked. Julia just scoffed; Miles spoke up.

"Why?"

Julia was shocked. "To get singers! I said it before! Think about it: if we manipulate people into thinking we're being brave and going against a possible psycho murderer to expose him for the greater good of the school, others will want in on it. Not only that, but glee club will be popular! There's a great chance we'll get enough people to compete in Sectionals, unlike last year!"

"Julia, that's insane," Mira frowned after Julia's long-winded speech.

"But in the Mr. Hummel way; to the point where it just might _work_," Miles added. Julia smiled. She had them. She only needed one twin for the other to automatically accept, and Alex came up with the idea. They had her back, like it or not.

"I'll give you your jobs during class later. This will work!"

Mr. Schue chose that moment to enter, and Julia took her seat. Mr. Hummel and Mr. Anderson came in last and (after the routine Binking) got the meeting going. No one mentioned recruiting this time; instead, everyone focused on the week's assignment:

Fiction. Something that couldn't happen (to you or in general).

–

It was a tough assignment this week and Julia should probably be focusing on it. But getting Andrew back mattered more at this point.

He was walking with a group of his hockey jerk friends. They were obviously not as awesome as the glee friends he used to have; they were _all the same_. Who dresses the same and laughs at the same time? Not the unique students of glee, that's for sure. Julia got bored just looking at them. She went over to Andrew and yanked him aside forcefully.

"Look, Andrew, before you say anything, I want you to know that this is your fault!" Julia said, just loud enough for his friends to hear. "There's only four of us on the operation now. If we don't get more people soon, we'll never find out what that Hummel's deal is. He could be a threat to _society,_ Andrew—don't give me that look!—we need you. We can't weevil around information with only us. We'll be found out like _that_ if we don't get more people. You had better be there after school today; we're putting the next stage in motion ASAP. With or without you. Miles will take your place."

Julia stormed off.

Andrew started to spit out gibberish. What had just happened? His friends seemed to have the same idea.

"Dude, what was that?" Jason stared after her. "What was she talking about?"

"I'm not sure," Andrew replied with his eyebrows furrowed.

"Excuse us."

Andrew turned around to see the twins. His pals inched away slowly. Andrew may be able to be seen with them, but everyone else had enough sense not to associate. Miles continued where Mira left off.

"Andrew. We're worried about you. Why did you back out of the operation so suddenly?"

"What are you—?"

"Operation Hummel!" Mira explained in that creepy, emotionless voice the twins almost always had. "Stop playing dumb. It's the only reason we rejoined glee. Why did you chicken out?" The two turned and left, glaring at him behind their backs. Andrew turned back to his friends, still confused. The hockey players went back over to him just as a finger tapped Andrew's shoulder.

"Oh my God, _what_?" Andrew yelled as he spun to find Alex. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers. "I don't _know _what you guys keep talking about! Can you just _leave me alone_?"

"I-I-I—" she stuttered. Andrew heard Jason whisper "That's the mute" to Kyle. He ignored them. "I-I-I was just going to ask what the History homework was... I had an appointment and missed the class."

"Oh." He scratched the back of his head self-consciously. "Oh. I'm sorry. I thought you were going to tell me off about 'Operation Hummel' or something."

"Why did you back out anyway?" Alex questioned. "Did you get cold feet? Miles has to do your role and his now. Hadn't we planned this for weeks? Were those Thursdays for nothing? Look, I don't want an explanation. We're going to find out the truth about Monsieur Hummel. Please consider joining us."

She, too, turned and left. But not before catching a glimpse of the hockey players' faces. They looked like they would die of curiosity before the day was over and they could check it out.

–

"It's your turn to pick our song," Miles muttered during the enormous lecture Mrs. Konnel was giving. People often threw paper airplanes, paper wads, and pencils during her lectures. She didn't care.

"I was thinking Broadway," Mira whispered back.

"You always think Broadway."

"No, there's this really great song. The best part is, you've already heard it enough times to know exactly how it goes. It's completely opposite from what everyone thinks about us. We can perform it after school today, without practice."

Across the room, Julia sat watching them. She didn't usually zone out during Konnel's lectures, but today she did. She was having a hard time coming up with an idea for "fiction".

And then it hit her. _Fairy_ _tales weren't real. _Now she just needed a song that was about a fairy tale.

Kyle sat next to her. He didn't really understand what had happened earlier with everyone yelling at Andrew. He didn't understand much of anything, really. Like what Konnel was talking about. He didn't even know what class this was. He was just aiming to hit Link with his paper wads.

Jason was glad it was the last class of the day. He had spent much of it asking around to see if anyone knew anything about that Hummel teacher or the plan the glee club had. No one knew a thing, but they were interested now. They were going to find out what the losers were going to do that may have an impact on the school; it was their duty as students.

The class was dull, as usual. Very few paid attention, as usual. Konnel plowed on, as usual. Paper war broke out, as usual. Someone was hit in the eye with a pencil, as usual. The door was opened, as...

Not usual.

The class fell silent as Mr. Anderson poked his head in the door. It was as if time had frozen: arms were still halfway throwing markers, Julia was jerked out of her revere, and the twins stopped whispering. All of the students were looking at Mr. Anderson, who was looking at Konnel, who was still lecturing. But she seemed to have sensed that silence was abnormal and turned to see Mr. Anderson.

"Heather, do you think you can check in on my class occasionally in the next twenty or so minutes? I've got something important to do," Mr. Anderson added. Mrs. Konnel was so shocked by being requested to do something for someone that she couldn't speak and simply nodded. "They should be quiet because I've given them worksheets, but I just need you to make sure that no riot breaks out. Are you sure it's okay?"

Konnel simply nodded again and Anderson thanked her before leaving. Everything resumed except for Konnel. She got the point that next to no one was listening and simply wrote down pages to read for those that were. She left the class, presumably to watch the quieter and possibly more exciting English one.

Jason was sitting up straight, the interruption piquing his curiosity for the second time that day. What could be important enough for Anderson to ask Konnel to check on his class for _twenty minutes_?

–

"_There's been some confusion for you see my twin is..."_

_Unusually and exceedingly peculiar,_

_And altogether quite impossible to describe..._

Mira peered across the room at Miles, who paused. He looked about awkwardly, biting his lip before uttering a single word.

_Blonde**.**_

They looked away, looked back and looked away again. They alternated lines, Mira going first.

_What is this feeling, so sudden a new?_

_I felt the moment I laid eyes on you._

_My pulse is rushing;_

_My head is reeling;_

_My face is flushing!_

Like two halves of one whole, they sounded complete when they sang together.

_What is this feeling?_

_Fervid as a flame_

_Does it have a name?_

_Yes..._

Both seemed to have a dawning moment, heading towards each other with smiles on their faces and stopped with inches between them before turning to their gleemates.

_Loathing._

_Unadulterated loathing._

Mira gestured to Miles with a disgusted scowl.

_For your face!_

Miles imitated Mira's girly voice.

_Your voice!_

Mira looked down at Miles' argyle sweater and trousers; he looked like a nerd.

_Your clothing!_

Both surrendered and walked away from one another, singing together and casting glares now and again as they whisked around the room.

_Let's just say: I loath it all!_

_Every little trait however small,_

_Makes my very flesh being to crawl,_

_With simple, utter loathing._

They grazed past each other, emitting waves of hatred. Julia giggled at the song, trying to keep back anything louder, while Alex swayed to the beat. Kurt was mouth the words—he knew them by heart, duh—as he, too, swayed.

_There's a strange exhilaration,_

_In such total detestation._

_It's so pure, so strong!_

Miles posed, one foot in front of the other angled and turned in a very heroic way. Mira came over and hip-bumped him out of the way to take his spot. They glared before going opposite ways.

_Though I admit it came on fast,_

_Still I do believe it can last,_

_And I will be loathing, loathing you_

_My whole life long!_

Kurt and Blaine, ever the faithful Broadway enthusiasts, were the only two singing the students' part. Mira looked quite grateful. They continued on, circling each other until the very end.

_And I will be loathing_

_For forever, loathing_

_Truly, deeply loathing you_

_My whole life long!_

They ended with their bodies angled in at each other, but facing out to the chairs where everyone sat. The two students and three teachers cheered as the performers bowed quickly and retook their seats. Mr. Schue stood up.

"Great job, guys! I'm amazed at how prepared you were! I had just assigned it this morning."

"We're always prepared," Mira stated mysteriously. Miles nodded solemnly beside her.

"Right," Mr. Schue said uncomfortably. "Well, since I'm sure no one else has any presentations..." Kurt longingly drifted over to the piano. Brad had been playing the song in that not-talking way of his. He really was like furniture. "I suppose that means you all can—"

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!" Kurt burst out, staring ahead at the far wall. "Back up. The truck."

Everyone looked at him, even Brad. When he turned to the far right entrance of the choir room, everyone's eyes followed his. There, with one foot in the room, was a tall, tan, surprised stranger.

"Please remove your very noisy rubber sole from the linoleum of the room. I heard you coming from halfway down the hall," Kurt managed to speak through gritted teeth. Impulsively, Blaine whisked over and stood beside Kurt. The foot had yet to move, so Kurt continued, "You have gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe; that's how I could hear you, Jason."

The foot finally moved and Jason examined his shoe. Indeed, freshly chewed bubblegum was lodged to his shoe. He'd get it later. He looked at Mr. Hummel in confusion.

"How do you know my name? I don't have your Frenchie class."

Kurt's eyes narrowed. He was feeling particularly spiteful towards this kid. "I know your name because you have Mr. Anderson's class. How is this not obvious?"

"Mr. Hummel is scary all of a sudden," Julia whispered to Alex, who nodded furiously.

"Yeah, whatever. Can I come in now?" Jason asked impatiently.

"I can't tell you if you physically can or can't."

Jason rolled his eyes. "God."

"No, I'm Mr. Hummel."

"_May_ I come in now?"

Kurt groaned and rubbed the heels of his hands on his eyelids. It helped relieve the pressure of the impending headache. He went over to the door as Blaine wrote down a few quick notes on his ever-present clipboard. Kurt gestured for Jason to come in and he wasted no time. Kurt barely had time to Bink him before he had gone over to Julia, ignoring Mr. Schue.

"Julia, I need to talk to you. Alone."

Julia had been expecting this. She nodded. "Let's go outside."

"What was the point of coming _inside_ if you were simply going to go _outside_ again?" Kurt fumed.

The two teenagers ignored him as they went into the hall. Julia was surprised to see Jason wasn't alone. Kyle was there, along with Link from the hockey team. There was a football player there, too, named Ryan with his arm around Ashley from the Cheerios. Then there was a girl and a boy Julia recognized from some classes she had. She was pretty sure their names were Carla and Felix.

Jason turned on her. "Tell us about your plan."

"I can't," Julia admitted. She nodded to the open door. Jason understood.

"We want in, and we're getting in. We do now, you explain later." Jason grabbed Julia's wrist and dragged her back into the choir room.

"You _still_ haven't removed the gum from your shoe, Bink," Kurt said while poking Jason. "You should probably let go of her wrist, Bink." He Binked all seven others that came into the room.

Jason let go of her wrist once he had led her to her seat. He stood at the front of the room, beside Mr. Schue, while everyone else found a seat. Alex and the twins were looking uncomfortable.

"We—that is, me and these other fine and outstanding students—would like to join glee club."

"F—" Miles held until he had to gasp for hair.

"Uck!" Mira stuck her tongue out in disgust.

"What did you _do_?" Kurt turned to Julia.

"I did do anything!"

"Yes, you did." It was less like an accusation and more like stating a fact. "People don't just have a change of heart. A variable always comes into play, whether it be an event or time itself. There are no epiphanies, there are no moments of "aha" without a variable. So someone needs to fess up now and apologize to the person who had been wronged."

It was a tense few seconds.

"You're right. I apologize."

The room turned. The speaker continued.

"I never should've lied or acted that way. There was no excuse for my or anyone else's behavior." Jason bowed his head at the end. Mr. Schue clapped his hands.

"I guess that settles it. But there's just one issue."

"He's lying through is teeth?" Kurt quipped with his eyebrow raised.

"Kurt..." Kurt flinched at Blaine's voice, losing all sense of hostility. His expression reminded Julia of a dog that knows (or perhaps, thinks) it's about to be kicked. Blaine just sighed and looked anywhere except Kurt's eyes, lest he melt into mush.

"Actually," Mr. Schue corrected, "I was going to say that none of our newest members have gone through the most sacred tradition of glee club."

"Being slushied?" Alex guessed.

"Dumpster toss?" Miles questioned with excitement.

"Being forced to listen to Katy Perry all day?" Julia tried.

"Kill a defenseless doe and devour it, and in doing so absorb the power and ferocity of a doe?" Mira threw out for the heck of it.

"No," Mr. Schue paused for effect. "_Auditions_!"

"That was my next guess," Mira pouted.

–

**Did anyone else die with those AVPM/S references in Funeral (see what I did there)? IN THE SAME SCENE?**

**Kurt: "Yeah... yeah, dead. My mom's dead." = Harry: "It was left to me by my dad. The dad that's dead. My father's dead. I have a dead father."**

**And...**

**Sue: "'Cause if I was being honest with you, Eddie Munster and Herman Munster, I don't know how to deal with this." = May be reading too far into this one, but I squealed anyway. I mean come on, the odds of Herman Munster? Somewhere, Hermione looked around, expecting to see Harry.**

**I was dying. To the point of watery eyes. Seriously. My mom gave me weirded-out looks. She wondered what was so funny in such a sad scene, but was laughing to hard to answer. Ah, being a fangirl is the best job in the world.**


	7. Auditions

**Oh... my... god... It's over. It's all over. My life is over. Glee is over. _Frick on a stick with a brick!_**

**I believe I shall start with doing something I've never done before: thank you guys. Despite how mean and psychopathic I am, I really do appreciate your reviews, favorites, and alerts. Now I won't name anyone _specifically_, because I haven't had you sign a contract saying I could, but I'll give you a general association. You know who you are.**

**The reviewer of every chapter: You are awesome. No lie. But that last review you sent left me in tears. How could possibly be reading a fanfiction with Blaine (or watching Glee, for that matter!) without having watched AVPM and AVPS? Get Youtube up this goddamn instant and type in that goddamn search bar "A Very Potter Musical Act 1 Part 1". Thank me later. And eat a Red Vine while you're at it.**

**Person who's going craaaaazy: Soon, you'll be just like me! It is weird. I don't deny that. It's the way my brain works. But all will be explained!**

**The reviewer wanting Klaine love: Don't worry. Klaine will always be my main characters. I just have to set up everyone else's storyline. Because without side characters getting a storyline, it wouldn't be complete now would it? If Glee were like that, it would be the Rachel freakin' Berry Show (another reference there, by the way). Patience, young Jedi. Soon, your reward, Klaine, will be. Yes, hmmm.**

**The reviewer that makes me think of hot chocolate: I don't think I've ever used the word chappie...? And thanks for missing me. Homework has nearly doubled. Stupid end-of-the-year rush... But this should make up for it, yes?**

**NOW! Here's what you missed on Gleephobia: Julia's bait caught on; Jason and six others want to join glee club. Now all they have to do is go through Auditions...**

–

"So, wait, does this mean we have to _sing_?"

"Yes. Pick a slot, please?" Alex whispered. She pointed to the Audition order sheet, where a few had signed their names up for a number. Jason grumbled as he put his name down for number five. This was going to suck balls.

"You have a day or two to prepare. Good luck," Alex told him ominously. There were all of these people she didn't know. She didn't want to talk in front of them, but being in charge of the orderly fashion of sign ups required speech. She wasn't about to let Mr. Schue down with a vow of silence. Alex waved the next person forward.

"Let me get this straight," Jason nearly yelled to get the room's attention. "We sing and you let us into the club?"

"Correction: If you sing _well, _we let you into the club," Miles said spitefully.

"_If _the song fits the assignment," Julia smirked.

"_If_ we feel like it," Mira added.

"_If_ you don't annoy us," Monsieur Hummel smiled, the picture of innocence.

"There's a lot of _if_ involved in this process," Mr. Anderson reported jokingly. "Good luck to all of you. You'll need it. The judges aren't exactly nice."

"No, we are not," Monsieur Hummel confirmed. "Especially not those students. They're just _vicious_!"

The four glee club members spoke their outrage. Ashley the Cheerio considered that thoughtfully. "Vicious, huh?"

–

None of the new wannabes spoke about glee club outside of the choir room. No one knew that they were joining, but most everyone knew about the Hummel Plan. It would make the fall softer when word did get out.

All seven spent free time Googling songs. Fiction? Really? There were songs out there, but they were all crap. Meanwhile, they went to a glee meeting after school and after any other previous engagement they had. Most of them managed to catch Julia's rendition of Taylor Swift's _Love Story _for the assignment. It was inspiring and finally, many knew what they were looking for.

At the next meeting, it was time for at least the first few auditions. Ashley strutted on stage with her black hair wildly framing her face, purple eye designs and torn black shirt and skirt (complete with ripped leggings).

"Hello, my name is Ashley Whig and I'll be singing _Cannibal_ by Ke$ha." 

_Carnivore, Animal._

_I am a Cannibal._

_I eat boys up,_

_You better run!_

Ryan was next. He just walked in like a normal person, wearing his football jacket. "Ryan Orland. _Stairway to Heaven_. Led Zeppelin," he said simply.

_If there's a bustle in your hedgerow, don't be alarmed now, _

_It's just a spring clean for the May queen. _

Third in line was Kyle. He stood there for a time until Mr. Schue cleared his throat. He had been sleeping with his eyes open. "I'll sing... I don't remember the name. Here goes."

_I heard him say in a voice so gruff,_ "_I wouldn't eat you 'cos you're too tough!"_ _It was a one-eyed one-horned flying purple people eater._ _It sure looks strange to me!_ "Alright guys, that's a wrap," Mr. Schue yawned. He and Blaine stood and stretched; they had been sitting in the front row through all of the performances. Miles, Mira, Alex, and Julia were sitting in the second row; they stood and stretched, too. Kurt was on the stage, standing by the entrance to the backstage. It saved him from having to make special trips each time a new student came out. "Oh _no_ you don't!" Carla, in all of her hot-headed fury, came storming out of the backstage. She was too outraged to care about some faint prod to her shoulder. "I'm next, and I'm _so_ going." "Ah. Um, well," Mr. Schue grasped for words. "Go right ahead! I just assumed you'd want more time and—" "_Never_ assume anything from me, Mr. Schuester," Carla smirked. "I'll be singing _Mother Knows Best_ from Tangled." She cued Maestro as everyone sat back down. _Mother knows best,_ _One way or another,_ _Something will go wrong I swear!_ _Ruffians, thugs,_ _Poison ivy, quicksand,_ _Cannibals, and snakes; the plague!_ – Jason lazily skated backwards on the ice. He was glad he had another day to work something out. He didn't have a clue what he was going to present. When he faced the facts, he just couldn't rap well. He was probably the only Hispanic in his neighborhood that couldn't, but it was the truth. He completed another loop. Why was he even doing this? There was a big game coming up that he could be practicing for instead of spending all his energy on finding a song. What did fiction mean? Something that wasn't real. Didn't that mean aliens or something? His mind wandered to Katy Perry's _E.T._ Hell no. He drifted to the center of the rink. He wasn't about to sing any song by a girl. That's just gay. He didn't really know enough songs to pick one he actually liked. He didn't notice when someone else slid onto the ice. He only noticed when a hockey stick was shoved into his hand. "Hey," Jason greeted. He just looked at the stick for a while. "Are you going to play me or not?" Link asked. Link was the right defense while Jason was the right wing. "Dunno. Wouldn't feel right kicking your ass," Jason smirked. Link just skated into position, readying the puck. Jason sighed at the lack of reaction and went to his spot. They carried the conversation while playing. "So, have a song yet?" Link questioned casually. "Nope. You?" "Not especially." "I don't even know what the hell we're suppose to be looking for," Jason growled as he stole the puck a second time. Link was gaining on him. "I was thinking of doing something by Jaron and the Long Road to Love, but I can't pull it off," Link admitted, swiping the puck and heading to the other end of the court. Jason was in chase now. "Oh yeah? What song?" He pretended he knew the band. He really just wanted a song he could do, so long as Link wasn't doing it. "_Pray for You_. Heard it?" "Yeah." He had. Once or twice on the radio. It was an odd song. "I can't do it right, though. Back to the drawing board, I guess," Link sighed as the puck was shot right into the goal. "0-1 to me." They played the game out. The final score was 3-3 when they decided to leave it. Link had to get home and Jason had to get started on a song. And he had finally found one.

–

"Blaine?"

"Mmhmm?"

"Do you happen to be missing anything?" At Kurt's words, Blaine began checking his pockets and trying to remember. It was a good twenty minutes before school started, and they were just strolling through the halls Kurt rarely got to see.

"Not... that I'm aware?"

Kurt held up a Ziploc baggy with a sandwich inside. Blaine's face dawned with comprehension. He had forgotten his lunch. Again. Kurt just smiled softly as Blaine took the bag. He couldn't quite remember the feeling of not knowing where something important was. It was entertaining to see Blaine have that feeling.

"So." Blaine tried to distract from his embarrassment. "What do you think of the glee students so far?"

"Ashley was alright. Ke$ha song, what can you expect?" Kurt smirked and shifted his eyes to catch a glimpse of Blaine trying not to laugh. "Ryan was also alright. I believe he can hold the status of lead male voice better than Miles; he just has one of those tones. Kyle is like a male Brittany."

Blaine couldn't hold in his laughter any more and had to bow his head. Kurt just plowed on. "No, seriously. Who sings OEOHFPPE? And yes, I made up that acronym when I was five or six. But onto Carla. She scares me." Blaine was struggling to keep control and was failing badly. "_Mother Knows Best_? That is the creepiest song in that movie. And I do enjoy that movie."

Minutes later, when Blaine had calmed down, he asked another question. "What's with you and Jason?"

"Have you ever had that instant feeling of dislike for someone? Well, multiply it by five and you have my feelings for Jason. I could tell just by not talking to him that he was a disgusting human being. Who doesn't notice they have gum on their shoe?"

Blaine smiled at Kurt's hypercritical nature. There never really was a dull moment. Each went into their respective classrooms right next door to one another. Students often asked why Mr. Anderson's front of the room and Mr. Hummel's front of the room were separated only by wall. It was just so that there were no unfortunate accidents.

–

Jason took a deep breath. He had practiced a few times last night, but that was all. He wasn't quite sure he had it down. What the—was he _nervous_? He was just here to get information and get out. When he spilled all of Hummel's secrets to the school newspaper, he would quit glee. Simple as that. So why the fuck was he so _nervous_? He didn't need to be, so he wasn't anymore.

He pushed open the door and practically held his arm out for the poke. He went to the center of the stage. Those lights were bright. Were there people actually manning them? He brushed it off. Time to sing. For an audience. For the first time. Right.

"Name's Jason Sappovitz. I'll be singing _Pray for You_ by Jaron and the Long Road to Love." Mr. Schue nodded at the song choice. Mr. Anderson looked intrigued. The four students leaned forward. Jason didn't look back to see Mr. Hummel's reaction.

_I listened to the preacher_

_As he told me what to do._

_He said, "You can't go hating others_

_Who have done wrong to you._

_Let the good lord to his job,_

_And you just pray for them._

Just a gateway to another idea. Just survive. It's only singing. When he compared the difficulty of singing to having fifteen seconds left on the clock while in the middle of a brawl with a three-hundred pound hulk, singing had nothing on him.

_I pray your birthday comes,_

_And nobody calls._

_I pray you're flying high,_

_When your engine stalls._

_I pray all your dreams,_

_Never_ _come true._

It was like training: something no one wants to do, but everyone has to. He, along with nearly every other athlete, would much rather just jump in the game and screw training.

_Yeah I'm gonna take the high road,_

_And do what the preacher told me to do._

_You keep messing up..._

_And I'll keep praying for you!_

This was so boring. Why was he bothering? It could all blow up in his face and he'd look like an idiot for nothing.

_Just know wherever you are,_

_Near or far,_

_In your house or in your car._

_Wherever you are, honey,_

_I pray for you!_

_I pray for you._

Jason finished, breathing heavily. The clapping started behind him and spread quickly to Mr. Schuester and Anderson. He had survived. He turned and left the stage after a bow. He nodded to Felix, who went on stage next.

"'lo. My name is Felix Rook. I'll be singing the song from one of my favorite Youtube videos." He cleared his throat. "When I'm feeling sad, I sing about all the things in the world that make me happy."

_An apple pie,_

_A bright blue sky,_

_A breezy meadow in July._

_An ice cream bar,_

_A shooting star,_

_The sound of a steel guitar._

"Oh, I know this song," Kurt smiled wistfully.

_Frost on a windowsill_

_The feel of a dollar bill_

_Vacations in Brazil_

_Fill me with glee!_

Kurt swayed back and forth. Felix had a smile plastered on his face. He was really getting into it, but he refused to dance. He'd just embarrass himself.

_This is all the stuff that makes life worth while._

_Everybody knows the Holocaust was a lie,_

_So let's sing about the things we like _

_and don't be shy!_

"W-wait. _What_?" Kurt exclaimed. That's not how the song went when he remembered it...

_I love the feel of grain_

_The screams of a man in pain_

_Blood coming down like rain,_

_showering me!_

Kurt had figured out by now that it wasn't the song he use to know from some other lifetime. And he was starting to like this kid less and less. Not quite at Jason's stance yet.

_That everlasting thrill_

_During the final kill_

_Body dumped in a landfill_

_Got off Scott-free!_

Getting so much closer to Jason. Who sings about blood and killing and dumping bodies in landfills? That's just... wrong. There was nothing to joke about there.

_These are all the little things that make me smile._

_This is all the stuff that makes life worth-while._

_One day I will eat your brain and it'll be great!_

_So let's sing about the things we like _

_and meet your fate!_

"Thank you, that was uh, great, thanks. You really, uh, nailed it," Mr. Schue smiled encouragingly, quite unsure of how to react to something like that. Felix brushed his blonde hair out of his eyebrows, bowed, and left the stage, trying not to say those two words he really wanted to. When he got backstage, he nodded to Link.

Once Kurt had Binked Link, he went to sit out in the audience. He deserved to see at least one performance from the correct angle.

"Hey, my name is Taryn Link and just to clear up stupid rumors and speculation," Link grumbled. "I am in fact a girl."

Mr. Schue was the only one surprised by this, though to his credit, he hid it well. Kurt and Blaine, having excellent gaydars, already knew that Link was a girl. It was kind of obvious.

"Well, Taryn—"

"_Link_," she stressed.

"Link, then," Mr. Schue corrected himself. "What will you be singing?"

"I don't know," Link sighed. "I can't exactly sing well. Can I just be one of those people who stand behind the soloist with wet eyes while they sing?"

"I don't understand. If you don't think you can sing, why do you want to join glee club?" Mr. Anderson asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Just because I can't sing doesn't mean I don't like to try," she shrugged. "And I also know that to compete, show choirs need twelve members. If you accept everyone here, you'd have eleven. Now do I still have to sing?"

"Yes," Monsieur Hummel jumped in. He stared intently at Link, as though trying to figure her out. "Assignment or not. Any song you know by heart, sing it."

Link thought for a while. Who memorizes songs like that? She thought back to the Google searches she did. She wasn't about to do _Pray for You_, not after Jason did. She finally thought of one. It wasn't entirely fictional, but with her singing it, it just might turn out to be.

She whispered to Brad and the band the song she wanted to do before heading back to center stage. Brad started, with just one piano key at a time. Link took a much needed breath before singing.

_When I was a young boy,_

_My father took me into the city,_

_To see a marching band._

_He said, "Son when_

_You grow up, would you be_

_The savior of the broken,_

_The beaten, and the damned?"_

Kurt wasn't the only one interested, now. It was as if everyone had heard this song a lifetime ago and could still remember it. Perhaps not the lyrics precisely, but the tune was and always would be familiar.

_He said, "Will you defeat them?_

_Your demons and all the non-believers_

_The plans that they have made._

_Because one day I'll leave you_

_A phantom, to lead you in the summer_

_To join the Black Parade!"_

The song seemed to taper off, until it jumped back to life. The four students jumped up and cheered and screamed as Link sang in stride. For someone that couldn't sing, she sang well enough to keep everyone enthused.

_A world that sends you reeling,_

_From decimated dreams._

_Your misery and hate will kill us all._

_So paint it black and take it back!_

_Let's shout it loud and clear!_

_Defiant to the end; we hear the call!_

The four students hurried onto the stage. They really wanted in on it. Their teachers watched in amusement.

_I'm just a man!_

_I'm not a hero!_

_Just a boy!_

_Who had to sing this song!_

_I'm just a man!_

_I'm not a hero!_

All of the students shouted out, "_I. Don't. CARE! We'll carry on!_"

They never finished the song, as they broke into a fit of giggles and laughter.

"How could you possibly say you can't sing?" Julia giggled. "You're awesome!" The others laughed and agreed, leaving Link to blush. The other six that were backstage began to wonder what the hell everyone was laughing about.

–

"Where _are_ they?" Julia complained.

"I don't know! This meeting was suppose to start... _ten minutes ago!_" Mira moaned after glancing at the clock. The glee club sat in two separate groups: those already in, and those awaiting judgement.

"I wish they'd hurry it up. How long can it take to cut many and keep some?" Carla grumbled, confident she was going to be picked to stay.

"Sorry, everyone," Mr. Schue apologized, scrambling into the room. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Hummel followed.

"It was actually only nine minutes and forty-eight seconds, Mira. We had to wait the other twelve seconds," Mr. Anderson explained with a faint shrug. Monsieur Hummel was doing his routine poke and such.

"Why?" Jason jeered. No one answered him, but when Mr. Hummel distinctly looked away when poking him, he just knew. He _had_ to figure out what was up with this guy. Even that ginger councilor wasn't that messed up.

"Alright," Mr. Schue clapped his hands. "After much deliberation and taking student input to heart," he added, nodding to the four students. "We have decided who gets to stay and who has been voted off the island."

"Hurry up, we haven't got all day," Carla heckled.

"We have decided—or rather, I broke multiple ties—" Mr. Schue glanced at his colleagues who whistled suspiciously. "That everyone can stay."

Smiles, laughter, and cheers broke out around the room. High-fives were given and it took some time before the room was back under control.

"As long as everyone is passionate, who are we to take it from you?" Mr. Schue smiled. At last, a full club again. Still, they were one short. One was missing. One...

One...

One...

Kurt saw this. He was unsure whether or not Blaine did. The countertenor hated the number one. And one missing was even worse. But he wouldn't worry about it. By the end of next week, he was sure Andrew would return. Andrew liked singing, and once he found out it was accepted by a few of his friends, he'd be sure to come back. It might not be in his own best interest, even if he doesn't realize it. Yes, leaving was bad, but returning could be even worse.

Because every knows that when you leave, it may not always be by your choice. But returning... that's when the pain really sets in.

Kurt shrugged off the sense of dread. If he didn't watch himself, he'd slip into a panic attack. He'd be better putting his efforts into what they were going to have for dinner. And maybe actually cooking for two this time, instead of five.

–

**Okay, so I changed the layout of the songs. Will you tell me if you like this way or the old way better? No? Okay, that's fine, too... I could also use some ideas. Anything you want to see happen, I will consider. I've already got an idea for how Kurt's "issues" are revealed and what spirals out of that, but everything else is a clean slate.**

**Cannibal – Ke$ha – Ashley **

**Stairway to Heaven – Led Zeppelin – Ryan **

**One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater – Sheb Wooley – Kyle**

**Mother Knows Best – Tangled – Carla**

**Pray for You – Jaron and the Long Road to Love – Jason**

**Ferrets – Felix**

**Black Parade – MCR – Link **


	8. Welcome to My Life

**I really needed to write this chapter. I was in a school play and it could only be summed up in one word: FAIL! So I needed something that made me happy, not necessarily well-written.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Previously on Gleephobia: Auditions were a success and all of the students were allowed to join New Directions! Now they can really dig down and figure out Kurt's deepest, darkest secrets, right? … R-Right?**

* * *

><p>A week and a half had passed since the faithful day that the glee club had more than four members. Kurt was right; Andrew had returned as soon as he learned singing was accepted. They were aiming for Sectionals, and aiming high. The set list was coming together and was just about done.<p>

Neither Kurt nor Blaine were working on it now, however.

Blaine could feel the reactions to each individual kiss he planted on the boy's lips. The boy was warm, soft. He didn't want this to end and moved lower to give the boy's neck some attention. He could hear the gasps, the moans, the need for more. Were they from him or...? Their lustful noises started to blend together. It did unspeakable things to him.

He knew that something was off, but it felt too good to worry about. Their hands traveled up and down one another's body, wrinkling clothes and ruffling hair. Their love—lust—want—imprinting itself on the piano. He felt as though he might explode if he didn't express to the boy just how much he loved him. It was quite difficult, as no matter what he didn't he didn't feel as if he expressed it thoroughly enough.

Kurt was somewhere else.

He guided the brush down the wall once more. It was one of the few things he didn't count subconsciously. The walls needed to be just the right shade of gunmetal black. His brush consisted of only fifty-five hairs. It took a while to paint the room—let alone give it texture—but he was about a third done with it. He preferred quality over quantity.

His watch beeped five times in alarm. He put the brush into the water and carefully replaced the cover on the paint can. He walked out the open door; there were no lights to turn off. He walked purposefully into the kitchen and over to the stove.

_Beep beep! Beep beep! Beep beep!_

His hand slammed onto the alarm clock that kept blinking 5:30. Blaine yawned and stretched, sitting up and scratching his messy hair. That was weird. It was the most vivid dream (or was it a memory? He couldn't even tell) he'd ever had. He could swear, if he had been asleep for ten more minutes, he would've breached the line between making out and... that. Thank God for alarm clocks.

However, there was the growing issue of unrest down south, so Blaine figured he could stand to sit in bed for a minute longer.

Kurt's Lemon-Raspberry Muffins came out nicely, as always. It wasn't the healthiest of breakfasts, but he simply felt like today would be a special day. No reason, it was just special.

He removed the ten (yeah, like he'd make a dozen!) muffins from the pan and organized them onto five plates with two each. He began to scrutinize each one. One was too brown, two were odd-shaped. Kurt was about to throw two more away to make it even, but Blaine came in and swiped them before he could.

"There are children starving in Africa!" he teased. He set the plate down at the table and proceeded to wash his hands.

Kurt rolled his eyes. Two little muffins wouldn't make a difference. "Alright, but keep in mind that you have to eat four and a half muffins now, instead of two and a half." Blaine could eat whatever number he wanted. Kurt just had to have his two and a half. And yes, it had to be a_ half._

To outsiders, it looked like an unlikely morning. Sexual dreams? Painting before dawn? _Ten_ muffins? But everything was merely a piece to a broken puzzle. Blaine had never had a dream like that before in his life, and was writing it off as teenage hormones; it would've worked better if he was actually a teenager. Kurt had a deadline with that room; if he didn't meet it, he would break down even worse for failing. And yes, ten muffins. Ten very special muffins.

Not every muffin would come out perfect, thus at least five would be thrown away to make it even. This leaves five to eat, the key number. It also left Kurt happy and Blaine fed, which is all that matters in the end.

They left for the school twenty-five minutes before it started. They arrive in fifteen minutes and went into their respective classrooms. Nine minutes later, their students decided to come to class.

* * *

><p>Jason was rather proud of himself.<p>

It was lunchtime in the bustling cafeteria and he had politely (yes, _politely_!) asked the other glee members to eat with him. Not only that, but he had produced a notebook that held his own detailed plan of Operation Hummel. He had spent the last week working on it. Julia was flipping through it now with Andrew next to her, looking over her shoulder.

"When you guys told me your plan, I thought it kind of sucked," Jason told them. Alex winced. They had kind of made it up on the spot. It involved a lot of plain out asking, with dashes of singing meaningful songs. "So I made up a new one."

"Wow, Jason," the Cheerio flipped another page. "This is... uh..."

"Good, right?" Jason preened. "I know."

"Well, Jason. Erm, how do I put this? It sucks giant horse gongs," she said bluntly. Andrew nodded in agreement. Alex, who was sitting on Julia's other side, spit out her milk in a spit-take that Miles wished he could've caught on camera. Kyle got blasted with a majority of the liquid; Mira fell forward, nearly into her pasta, laughing while many of the others followed suit. Jason's face fell.

"Look, Jay," Andrew tried to set him down easy after Julia dropped him like a rock. "I don't understand any of it. Like"—Julia flipped to a page—"that! Why is this stick figure bedazzled?"

"That stands for Hummel!"

"Why are his limbs being violently ripped from his body Attila the Hun style?" At Andrew's words, Alex would've had another spit-take if the milk didn't come out of her nose.

"Oh, that!" Jason quickly grabbed the notebook. Miles was handing Alex some napkins. "I got bored. The plan actually stops after page three." He slid the notebook back to them.

"Alright." Julia read over it slowly. "I still don't understand."

"Whatdafuck?" Jason cursed. "It's obvious. We follow him home, stake out the place, send him notes with various cruel messages to see how he reacts, and tape him and Anderson getting it on."

Alex had run out of milk, but she started choking on her lasagna instead. Miles gave her a few slaps on the back to dislodge it from her throat. When she could speak, she did.

"W-What are you talking about? Taping him and Mr. Anderson doesn't have anything to do with it! And we d-don't even know that either of them are g-gay." Everyone at the table gave her a very _duhhhh_ expression. "O-Okay, Monsieur Hummel might be, but w-we don't know very much about Mr. Anderson! Like, w-why does he always carry around a clipboard?"

"Probably to draw dirty pictures," Jason smirked. "We should steal it."

"Well! I... uh," Julia turned the page, attempting to draw the conversation away from theft. "Well... I might've been able to understand it better if you put it into words, not stick-figure comics." The others pulled the notebook away from her to look it. They snorted and gaffed.

"Fuck you," he muttered. "It's a good plan."

"Maybe next time, Jason," Ashley smiled. "I think stealing the clipboard would be more realistic than twelve of us following Hummel home. That guy has a built-in radar."

The shrill sound of the bell sent them all sprawling for the trashcans and nearly running to class with the mass of other students.

* * *

><p>"If you forget your lunch one more time, I will tape it to your clothes," Kurt joked.<p>

"You watch, it'd be the day that I forget to change out of my pajamas," Blaine laughed. Will ran through the set list once more.

"I think we've got this down. Pushing original songs would've been too much pressure, especially for Sectionals. This is perfect," he summarized. The best part of it was that the next practice could be milked for every second, instead of spending time figuring out the final touches.

"It should be perfect. All the songs are in the range of the chosen soloists," Kurt said, using logic. Will had expected Blaine to say something like that. And by the look on his face, Blaine did, too.

They looked up as the bell rang. They bid William goodbye and went to Blaine's room—Kurt didn't have a class that block.

Kurt grabbed and chair and dragged it so it sat right next to the door. He settled into it and pulled his journal from his pocket along with his pen. The students filed in and were conveniently Binked as Kurt continued to get settled. Just as he became satisfied, the tarty bell rang. The door was still propped open.

Mr. Anderson started class with a grammar warm-up, like always. His students either aced or failed, with very few in between. It was silent for the first ten minutes. Kurt wrote fluently in his journal. _Not_ diary.

_Hello, old friend._

_I feel like you know me more than anyone else. In a way, I guess you do. Not much has happened recently. Glee is going into Sectionals very soon and the students are excited. I've been able to successfully hold back on Binking someone for nearly two minutes. Blaine still forgets to make his lunch and even forgets to grab it when I leave it in plain sight on the kitchen table. Everything's in a beautiful sort of calm. It's familiar. It's... schedule._

_It's also sad. Life can't go on so nicely forever. _Something_ is bound to happen. A "calm before the storm" sort of deal. It hurts to know that something is going to happen, yet you're powerless against it. I get this feeling it has to do with that Jason kid. He just changed his schedule recently; he's in this class right here... right now. _

_I swear, people like him are the reason people like me need medication._

* * *

><p>Kurt returned to his classroom just before the bell rang. That way, he avoided the crowded halls. He tucked his diary—<em>journal—<em>in front drawer of his desk. He met up with Blaine and they walked to glee club with light hearts.

"Guys! This is it!" Mr. Schuester was smiling. "We will start practicing now. We're running low on time. To the April Rhodes Civic Pavilion!"

The students stood and filed out, the three teachers hanging behind. Will turned to the two of them, but Kurt already knew what he was going to say.

"It's fine. There would be a lot of in-and-out, anyway. It's not like I enjoy poking people."

Will smiled sadly. He turned to Blaine, who just facepalmed.

"Mr. Schue, this is the third time I've tried to explain this," he said slowly. Kurt had to turn away so he wouldn't be seen smiling and shaking with laughter. "I physically cannot leave Kurt's side. Seriously. That's not a metaphor. It's _literal_. Fifty feet, Mr. Schue. The distance from here to the Auditorium is more than fifty feet, I assure you."

Will's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the outburst. "I was going to ask where your clipboard was."

"Uh..." Blaine started patting himself down. Kurt quirked his eyebrow. "It's right... uh... in my room, maybe? I thought I had it..."

"Your senility used to be cute, but now it's scaring me. _Where_ is your clipboard?" Kurt asked seriously. That clipboard was important. Beyond important. What had Blaine written recently? What if a student got a hold of it? What if _Jason_ got a hold of it?

"My room... it has to be," Blaine said, more to himself than anyone else. He took off to his classroom, Kurt right on his heels. The frantic English teacher unlocked his door and turned on the lights.

On his desk sat the clipboard.

Both of them breathed a sigh of relief. Blaine grabbed it as Kurt fought to stay standing.

"Let's... just go home now," Kurt pleaded. "I think one almost-heart attack is enough for one day."

* * *

><p>Kurt was humming the tune to one of his favorite Broadway songs. Of course, nearly all the songs on Broadway were one of his favorites. But <em>I'll Cover You<em> always pulled at his heartstrings, especially when he thought of Angel's fate. Would his be the same? He doubted it... his would probably be more like April's, who slit her wrists in the bathroom.

A boy could dream, right?

He finished the wall, finally. He put the paintbrush into the can and sighed. Now he only had one more full wall, and then the wall with the door. Then he could finally start texture and details. He was actually making pretty good time. He thought for sure he'd be behind schedule.

"Kurt?"

He turned when his name drifted through the open door. "Yeah, Blaine?"

"... All the water in that pot you told me to watch evaporated."

Kurt merely smiled. Only Blaine could burn water.

* * *

><p><strong>I have <em>so<em> burned water before. I felt stupid.**

**In a few chapters (two or three, I think) someone from the past is going to make an appearance! Woooooo! But who? And where? WHY? **

**Quick question for all of you (it's not related to the above... I swear...): Who is your favorite girl on _Glee_? Not doing Rachel, so forget her. But any other glee club girl is game. Let me know... or else I'll use, uh, errr... Yeah. Just let me know!**


	9. Check In, Check Up, Check Out!

**Hmm... So everyone likes Brittany, huh? And Mercedes and Santana... I'm placing each of them in the position I'm thinking of using... I'll think some more on it. None of the glee girls are really giving me the effect I was hoping for. Unless...?**

**I'm going to stop writing down my thoughts now. But let's get a move on, _ja_?**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee.**

**Previously on Gleephobia: The Glee Club is getting ready for Sectionals! Kurt's really proud of his work on the room he'd been painting and keeps a journal hidden in his desk. Blaine's losing his memory fast, and it just might lead to more trouble than it's already caused.**

* * *

><p><em>Check in<em>

Kurt hated holidays. They reminded him too much of get-togethers and fun with friends. Fun he just couldn't have anymore. They were just magnets for good moods. A magnet for food. And food was a magnet for Finn. And Puck. And Sam. And—

Kurt hated holidays. Thanksgiving was no different.

"Will you come with me to the Emerald City?" Kurt spoke suddenly. He had been intensively cleaning the counter island in the kitchen. The kitchen and living room were joint and Blaine, who had been sitting on the couch reading, looked up.

"Oh... okay?" He reached for his clipboard and wrote down a quick note, his eyes shifting slightly.

"... _Now that we're in here, you'll know we've been here before we are done!_" Kurt sang to himself as he resumed his cleaning. Blaine smiled slightly and scratched out the note. Honestly, he wouldn't celebrate Thanksgiving any other way. Kurt was singing, for God's sake. What more could anyone ask for?

"Kurt, you know what's coming up, right?" Blaine asked tentatively. He had just remembered... how could he forget? Kurt just shrugged. "I know you do..."

"I know I do, too," he quipped. "I try not to think about it, thank you." He let out a small growl and tossed the cleaning cloth aside. He dug under the sink and pulled out an unopened toothbrush. He all but ripped it out of the casing and dunked it into the solution. He started vigorously scrubbing the counter with it.

"Sorry," Blaine muttered. "But it's not every month we check in."

"No, it's every three," Kurt grumbled.

A week passes. Kurt fidgets more, is more self-conscious. His attitude slowly deteriorates, is less sarcastic. He outright resents Jason less and less, shrinking into the corner more and more. Everyone notices, but no one questions. He doesn't talk to any of his colleagues but Schuester and Anderson, and no one knows why. No one cares why. Let the crazy run in packs, so long as the crazy doesn't interrupt their lives. God forbid it be contagious.

Just a few days later, on December 5, Mr. Hummel and Mr. Anderson both had substitutes. The students were given no explanation to this random phenomenon. They had to accept the fact that their teachers were MIA for the day. There was nothing overly-suspicious about it. But everything was suspicious when you're looking for it. And of course, nearly all of the glee club was looking for it.

But what was suspicious about a deafblind man and his interpreter getting into a taxi and heading for Lima Hospital?

Everything.

It took Kurt only a few months to realize that if he couldn't see and couldn't hear who was in the room, he didn't have to Bink them. Not only that, but some of his phobias didn't have a chance to manifest when those two senses were blocked off.

But he couldn't stay like that all day.

His panic attacks were heightened during the times he spent visually and auditorily handicapped. Some of his phobias were even worse, almost crippling if he didn't know for a fact they couldn't be possible. Some were worse anyway, just because he was blindfolded.

Kurt didn't have much of a choice at the moment. He was getting into a _taxi_ and the last thing he needed to see or even think about was all the germs he had just exposed himself to. And with his Cleithrophobia (more commonly known as the fear of being in/locked in an enclosed space), being in a car wasn't the most comfortable thought.

Luckily, the trip to the hospital was swift. The porcelain-skinned listened to his music as the major effort in blocking out the outside influences, such as the thought he was going to one of the most terrifying places on the planet. When the car stopped and Blaine tapped his shoulder twice to tell him it was the final destination, he fumbled for the handle. He couldn't get a grasp on what he couldn't find; the door opened for him. He climbed out, his white cane searching.

It came in contact with its target: Blaine's leg. As the target started walking, the stick never left its place. Through the pavement and onto winding linoleum beneath his feet, Kurt knew when they were approaching the desk. He had memorized the path. They stood still for a moment. Blaine was probably talking to the receptionist. And then he moved again.

He tapped Kurt twice on the shoulder. He wasted no time taking off the blindfold and removing the earbuds. They were alone in the examination room; Kurt only had to Bink Blaine, which was much easier than the dozens of people that they had most likely passed.

Kurt twitched and refused to sit down. He had always hated hospitals—the smell was just gross. Before the incident, he had never really noticed, but the hospital was _full of sick people_. Cue horror music.

* * *

><p><em>Check up<em>

Kurt looked up at the door. A moment later, it opened and in walked a man in his mid-thirties. His black hair was cropped short, his brown eyes sparkling with tease. He was roughly chiseled, almost as if he hadn't seen much sleep as of late. He wore blue scrubs and a white lab coat proclaiming "Dr. F. Rogers". He held a clipboard loosely in his hand, but he wasn't paying it much mind.

"What's new, Kurt?" the doctor greeted. Kurt only poked him and whispered under his breath in return. "How are you feeling today?"

"I don't feel obligated to answer that," Kurt replied nicely. Rogers sighed and glanced at Blaine. Blaine got the message. He stood up, nodded to Kurt, and left the room. Rogers tried again.

"So, how are you feeling today?"

"I'm still not going to tell you," Kurt all but hissed, hate written plainly across his face. Dr. Rogers simply nodded, used to the attitude.

"Could you please sit down on the examination table?" He could see the disgust written on his patient's face. "Don't worry, it was just sanitized not fifteen minutes before you arrived. It might actually still be wet in some spots, so be careful."

Kurt indeed found a wet spot. He sniffed it carefully. It smelled of Sweet Pea. He loved Sweet Pea.

He slowly climbed on top of the cushion table. Rogers set his clipboard down, sanitized his hands, and pulled on latex gloves. He grabbed a reflex hammer and tapped Kurt's knees. Nothing happened.

"Could you grasp your own hands and pull them against one another?"

Once he had, Rogers tried again. A small reaction. Good enough.

"Still taking your medicine?" he asked, putting the hammer away. He grabbed his otoscope; Kurt turned his head to give the doctor better access to his ear.

"Which ones?"

"All of them?" Rogers faltered. Kurt turned his head so the other ear may be examined.

"Would I really be here if I wasn't? Answer honestly."

"Probably not."

Dr. Rogers put that utensil away as well. He pulled his stethoscope from his neck and sanitized the chest piece. Kurt subtly inched to the far end of the exam table. Rogers closed his eyes.

"Please, Kurt, will you lie down?" he tried. He knew it wouldn't happen, but it felt appropriate to give him the benefit of the doubt. The patient simply brought his knees up to his chest and shook his head as if he were a small child. "We aren't going to have to tranquilize you, are we?"

"Just give me a Valium. Or two. No, make that three. We all know how _well_ it worked out last time," Kurt wavered, trying to be sarcastic, but failing as his discomfort leaked into his voice. The doctor strolled over to where Kurt sat on the table.

"Let's not make this difficult, alright Kurt?" he smiled comfortingly. It had the opposite effect than intended; Kurt was getting more and more worked up.

Dr. Rogers was just reaching out a hand. He probably should've known; in fact, somewhere in the back of his mind, he did know. How couldn't he? But he still reached out. And he was still violently scratched by a scared little boy who feared being touched.

He yanked his hand back, the latex having actually been torn from the force of the scratch. Blood trickled down his index finger. He carefully removed the latex and opened the door, gesturing for a nurse to come in and keep the boy company.

Nurse Isabella slipped in just as Doctor Rogers slipped out. Blaine had been waiting outside the door, and now turned to him.

"So what's new?"

"Nothing, it seems," Dr. Rogers replied truthfully. "Still uncomfortable with unfamiliar adult males—though you'd think I'd be familiar by now. He seems pretty healthy and so long as he doesn't catch—I don't know—the swine flu, he should be fine."

"What happened to your hand?" Blaine thought aloud. He already knew the answer. There really was no need to vocalize it.

"He scratched me, no big deal," Rogers shrugged it off. "He wouldn't let me anywhere near his chest for me to listen to his lungs. Fought back. I didn't think Valium or even horse tranquilizers would be a good idea."

"Didn't he nearly tear your old room apart last time?" Blaine mused. As horrible and frightening as it was to see Kurt have that much fear and rage and raw instinct at the same time, it was still hilarious.

"_Nearly_? He tore it to pieces! He's _why_ I have a new room!" Dr. Rogers laughed. "But in all seriousness... Dr. Anderson, I don't know how much longer this experiment can honestly go on. He seems to have plateaued and the other subject hasn't been seen in a few months—we fear the worst."

"It has to go on! Even just a little longer," Blaine insisted. Rogers just shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Anderson. I have to publish the report and if they pull the plug on the experiment, then that's what happens. The medications are ready for pick-up. And one other thing: I encourage you to start the separation process now." Rogers started to leave. He looked back over his shoulder. "Though I suspect it isn't him who will have the roughest time." The doctor headed down the crowded hallways of the ward.

Blaine reentered the exam room to find Kurt and the nurse laughing about something or other. Kurt didn't notice him until he had planted himself right next to the boy, which was probably a blessing in disguise.

"Alright, Mr. Hummel. Looks like this is goodbye for now," the nurse smiled. "I'll be sure to tell Sophie that, though. She'll be so relieved!" The nurse waved as she left the room. Blaine turned to Kurt.

"What was that about?" he asked, interest written all over his face.

"She was saying how her sister was upset about missing a volleyball game on TV last night," Kurt explained, putting his blindfold back on. "I told her that it was a rerun of the game last Tuesday."

"Wow, lucky you saw it," Blaine said in surprise. They... didn't have... cable...

"Oh, you could call it luck," Kurt grinned. He put in his earbuds. "Or you could call it lying."

* * *

><p><em>Check out<br>_

"The doc just left the room!"

"Shut up! We know!"

No, there was absolutely nothing head-turning about twelve students dressed up like one giant Sherlock Homes Fan Club leaving school during lunch break to go to a hospital. With trench coats and sunglasses and newspapers, they were a completely normal sight. To drug dealers.

It was lucky that Mr. Hummel couldn't see or hear them. They stood out like sore thumbs to the general populace; just imagine what they'd be to Mr. Hummel! A little red flag going up, a flashing light. A giant beacon, even!

The doctor had just left the room and was talking to Mr. Anderson. They tried to listen in, but were too far away. Andrew leaned over to Carla.

"How did you know they would be_ here?"_

"I have connections," she shushed. "Look, there he goes!"

The doctor was indeed walking away. Carla upped and followed him quickly. The others were startled, but followed behind her. When Carla tapped the doctor on the shoulder, they all hid behind their newspapers.

"'scuse me. I don't mean to intrude, but I'm doing a research project for school and I was wondering if you could answer a question or two?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"Of course, why not?" Dr. Rogers smiled kindly. He didn't have much to do for the next fifteen minutes. He had been going to get a coffee, but this seemed more exciting.

"So Doctor...?"

"Rogers. Fred Rogers."

"Like the guy from—" Andrew started, before he was stabbed in the ribs with Julia's elbow. The doctor simply chuckled. Carla continued.

"Can you tell me about that patient you just saw?"

"I'm sorry, no," he said firmly. "Doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Okay..." Carla sighed. "Can you tell me what patients you usually examine?"

"I care for patients who have special conditions such as intense phobias," the doctor elucidated. "I'm the only one in Lima who does so, and I'm not even from Ohio. My original hospital that I worked at is in California."

"Isn't it a lovely change of scenery?" came the voice of Ashley from behind the newspaper she was sharing with her boyfriend, Ryan. The doctor looked over at her in surprise.

"Why yes, it is."

"Whatever. Why did you move from California to Ohio?" Carla urged. The doctor was hesitant.

"This is all for school, correct?" Carla nodded eagerly, encouraging the doctor to continue. "Well, I'm the medical consultant for a project currently taking place in Ohio."

"What's the project about?" she prodded.

"What project?" he disclaimed. He turned and walked away, a smile playing at his lips. Oh, when the Board got whiff of this...

The chill of winter got steadily worse as Christmas approached. Winter break was greeted with open arms and snowmen. When the blizzard hit, everyone huddled in their homes to enjoy a quaint Christmas.

As the beginning notes of _Beauty and the Beast_ played on TV, Kurt and Blaine swayed to the tune. Both of them had memorized all the lyrics and dialog. Once the beginning narration finished, Kurt turned to Blaine.

"I think it's funny how you can remember every word to every Disney princess movie ever created, yet you can never seem to remember what you'd eaten for dinner the night earlier."

"Hey! That isn't nice!" Blaine huffed. Kurt just quirked an eyebrow. "Alright, so it's true."

Kurt giggled. "I always liked _Beauty and the Beast_. She actually takes the time to get to know Beast before she falls in love, unlike most other princesses who fall in love at first sight."

"You don't believe in love at first sight?"

"Now I never said that..."

"Oh? What did you say, then?" Blaine put his hands on his hips in a very Kurt-like move. It was an awkward motion, considering he was sitting on the couch covered in a blanket.

"Nothing," Kurt waved off. He was on the other end of the small two-cushioned couch, wrapped in another (newly cleaned) blanket. "Only that Ariel's story is nothing in comparison to Belle's."

"That's...!" Blaine fumbled. "I mean—you can't—! Ariel is awesome!"

"That's the best argument you could come up with? 'Ariel is awesome'?" Kurt said skeptically. Blaine grabbed the nearest pill container on the end table and tossed it to Kurt.

"Oh, be quiet and take your AZT. We've missed half of Belle's song!"

* * *

><p><strong>Woo! Sorry it's a little late, folks. I usually update when it's Sunday here, but that was Father's Day so I couldn't. Had to finish it on Monday... and I fell asleep at my computer at three o'clock in the morning. My mom was mad, so I don't think I'll ever be doing that again. Anyway, it's Tuesday now... so here you go!<strong>

**P.S. About halfway through this chapter, I figured out how I'm going to work it. Yay for me! Tune in next time for... OUR SPECIAL GUEST, YOU-KNOW-WHO! (you actually don't, but whatever!)**


	10. Firefly: Proof Positive

**It's weird. I expected more of an outrage at the last sentence of the chapter. That and (maybe, I don't know...) laughter the doctor's name. It's like you people aren't friends with Google.**

**Previously on Gleephobia: The Glee Club follow Kurt and Blaine to a hospital. It appears Kurt was checked over by a guy who specializes in phobias. … … … … So now what?**

* * *

><p>"So now what?"<p>

"I'm... not sure," Julia admitted. The glee club had agreed to think over what they saw and discuss it after Winter Break was over. Winter Break was now over. It has been for nearly a month. It was the first time they could all be together out of the prying eyes of teachers and parents. Of course, it was in the second-floor girls' bathroom during third period and they all had five minutes—tops—but that was a trivial matter.

"Damn, we were so close," Carla cursed. Others nodded.

"Now just a second!" Julia burst. "We can't give up now, right? I know it's not like the movies where everything magically falls into place and we suddenly know everything there is to know about Mr. Hummel because someone knows it all and just tells us the story, but giving up is definitely out of the equation! We've just got to think harder, like Sherlock Holmes!"

"Wait, what? I thought he _was_ magic," Andrew said, stunned. Alex took advantage of everyone's focus on Andrew to tug on Julia's sleeve.

"Julia, this was just suppose to get everyone into glee club! Why does it sound like you're getting into it?"

"Because I _am_ getting into it! This is just too suspicious!" she whispered. "You can't tell me you're not curious?"

"I'm curious," Alex admitted, "but it just isn't right!"

The door of the girl's bathroom crashed open. The boys dove under sinks and into stalls while the girls tried to look natural.

"Here's Johnny!"

"Jason, you asshole!" Carla yelled at him. He just chuckled.

"Sorry I'm late to the party, I'm sure you all missed me," he grinned. The boys grumbled as they pulled themselves from various hiding places. Felix had pretended to be a statue. It wasn't convincing, so perhaps it was good that it was only Jason.

"We actually didn't notice you were missing," Julia sneered.

"That hurts... but I've got a _brilliant_ idea," the hockey player said with a glint of evil in his eye.

"Is it better than your last one?"

"Yes! Far better! Gather around, children, I'm about to blow all other ideas out of the water!" he claimed.

"Probably. Considering there were no other ideas," Alex whispered. Julia giggled.

"Alright! Here it is! I'm going to tell you! Hold your applause!" He paused. "You all know how I was transferred to a different English period? Every time I'm in there, Hummel is, too. And he's always writing away in this little diary. That's where we'll get our answers, I'm sure of it!"

"Jason. That could be his _lesson planner_," Link scowled.

"Actually, it couldn't." The glee students looked around. Their eyes fell on Alex. "His lesson planner is a big calender that covers most of his desk. It has all the assignments written into the dates."

"Ha!" Jason said smugly.

"Alex, you seem to know a lot about Hummel," Carla glared.

"He's just been helping me with some stuff, okay?"

"Oh, Monsieur Hummel!" Jason teased in a high-pitched voice. "I can't seem to get this stain off my linoleum! What product do you suggest?"

Everyone laughed at Alex's expense. Except Andrew. "Guys?" They ignored him. "Guys? Guys! We've been in here more than ten minutes!"

They all flew out the door to try to get back to class in an inconspicuous manner.

* * *

><p>Everyone arrived at glee practice in one piece (except for Felix, who had managed a detention for his lengthy time in the bathroom) and sat, fidgeting. Mr. Hummel had perched himself on top of the piano, which had become like a second desk to him. Mr. Anderson was asleep on it next to him. The kids had been wondering for some time if he was narcoleptic.<p>

"What's today?" Mr. Hummel asked suddenly.

"The sixth. Of February," Ryan added. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Alright, guys!" Mr. Schuester clapped as he finally entered. "It's time we really—mmrrumph!"

A burly, hulking man and a much smaller—yet equally as tough—woman jumped from behind a bookcase and tie Mr. Schue up, gagging him. They tossed him unceremoniously out in the hallway.

"Eek! Mr. Schue!" Ashely shrieked. She was suddenly protected by Ryan. The man and woman high-fived.

"Shh..." Mr. Hummel hushed.

"There's more!" Jason bellowed. He pointed around the room, where others of various shapes and sizes peaked from behind and under random objects.

"Shh." the teacher tried again.

"It's a coup!" Link shouted.

"Shh!"

"A what?"

"A coup d'état, idiot!" Julia screamed at Andrew, on edge like everyone else.

"What part of "Shh!" don't you children understand?" They had never seen Mr. Hummel outright angry before. Annoyed, yes, especially at Jason. But never angry.

"Damn, dude," the man chortled. "No need to get bitchy about it. They think we're murderers, give them a break."

A sudden yawn, groan, and stretch, sent them all different directions. The man dove into a cupboard, the woman slipped behind a cabinet, the other intruders quickly hid themselves fully, and Mr. Hummel crossed his legs and pretended nothing was wrong.

"H-how long was I out?" Mr. Anderson asked, his clipboard falling off the piano.

"Not too long," Mr. Hummel replied, picking the clipboard up for him. "The kids arrived, but Mr. Schue isn't here yet." He glared at the students, daring them to say something. They didn't. Kurt was glad to know his bitch stare still worked even after years of disuse. And Blaine didn't even notice.

"Good... I was worried that maybe he had—"

A loud crash and boom interrupted him. Screaming and running was heard. There was silence in the choir room as the glee kids and Blaine stared, while Kurt just smiled. Half the room behind the piano had spontaneously caught on fire, as though an explosion occurred. It even looked like it was in the hallway, too.

"...K-Kurt?"

"Happy Birthday!" he squealed.

"Oh, please tell me you had nothing to do with this," Blaine prayed, closing his eyes. How was he going to explain this much property damage? The occasional broken statue due to a severe scrub-down was alright, but an_ entire school_?

"Why don't you blow out your candle?" Kurt smiled, gesturing to the blazing fire.

"Y-you couldn't have done this, right? This is way too far, not even those scary Disney villains would think of something like this."

"What's that? It's hard to hear you over the sound of melting school!"

"This isn't funny, make it stop!" Blaine begged.

"Who's laughing? Clearly not all the people running for their lives."

"Okay, I'm going back to sleep because this is all one big, messed-up dream that feels like _déjà vu." _Mr. Anderson curled up on the piano while some of the students continued to stare with wide eyes. Others were trying to open the window on the safe side of the choir room.

"Wait, no!" Kurt shook Blaine violently, forcing him to sit up. "Stay awake for your birthday decorations. Surprise!"

Balloons floated in from various places, such as from under the piano, from cupboards and behind the drums. To each balloon, a human face was tied to the end.

"Oh. My. God. I think I'm going to throw u—Oh dear God, one touched me!" Blaine cringed away from the floating face. "What made you think this was a good idea?"

"Probably because I called up a bunch of old friends while you were taking a shower last week to come down today and they convinced me to set up a surprise party based off of Carl's insanity."

"... I'm not sure how to respond to that."

Laughter came from the same orifices the balloon faces (still floating around the room) did. Blaine looked around in confusion. His eyes landed on the fire.

"That's not real, is it?"

"Oh, let's hope not!" Kurt laughed.

"Nah, it ain't." The man from earlier climbed out of the cupboard. "It's the fake fabric fire stuff."

"The faces?"

"Masks from that costume shop down the street."

"Explosion sound?"

"Record track."

"People running?"

"That..." the man hesitated. "That's real. But, uh, Happy B-Day!"

"Thanks," Blaine smiled. Almost a dozen people had come out from their hiding places and wished the boy a happy birthday.

"Woah! Woah, woah, woah! Hold the phone." Eyes turned to the loudmouth girl standing. "What the hell is going on?"

"Well, Carla," Mr. Hummel began in a very calm manner. "In order to understand that, we must start from the beginning. In our Sophomore year, the glee club had failed to the point of having no director. Mr. Schuester decided to take over and lead the club in a "New Direction", thus the name. At the time, there were only five members, but we became six after a quick marijuana blackmail session. But because of this—"

"You're starting way too far back," a petite brunette cut in. "If we jump to our Junior year, in which I made some major personal progress towards being more of the star I am today, there's actually twice as many solos for me as well as—"

"And I was the only one without a solo in front of a competition audience," an Asian woman with blue highlights spoke up.

"That's simply because you didn't train your vocals as thoroughly as I do. You can't go drinking _soda_, it ruins your pitch. As I was saying—grrummph!" A gag was thrust into her mouth and tied behind her head.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," the pretty blonde that gagged her glared.

"Quinn! That was my wife you just gagged!" a burly man with a shirt proclaiming "FINN" barked.

"_Wanky_!"

"Santana!" chorused most of the room.

"Fifteen minutes. We made it fifteen minutes." Everyone turned to Kurt. He seemed to be speaking more to himself than anyone else. He quickly untied the girl's gag. He seemed to be fighting it the whole time. "Now the fun begins."

"We should sing!" the petite brunette declared.

"We should sing a song!" Finn agreed.

"Yes! That'll be fantastic!" the brunette praised.

"Yeah, a song with music!" the man added.

"I like it, Puck! I like it!"

"And we should wear matching clothes."

"Little too far for impromptu, Sam."

"We can dance, though, right?" another Asian asked.

"Of course, Mike! What is a song without dance?"

"Ooh, is it a song?" came a voice from under the piano. Blaine ducked under and pulled a second pretty blonde out from under it. She wore bright pink, as if she wasn't even trying to be inconspicuous.

"Now that we're all here," the brunette, obviously the leader, began, "I think we should introduce ourselves. I'm R—"

"You're Rachel Berry! I've read about you!" Alex exclaimed. Rachel looked flattered, but not surprised. Everyone else just stared, not quite sure if this was real or not. "You were in New York, doing a community production of _RENT_. You played Maureen! An agent liked your talent and now you're in the Broadway revival production of_ Spring Awakening_ as Wendla!"

That was the longest string of words most of them had ever heard come from Alex's mouth. Rachel just posed in a self-important way. "I'll sign autographs later. Right now, it's time you learned that we... are the first generation of New Directions. Well, most of us." She glared at two of their members*, who just averted their eyes and whistled in innocence.

"Oh. Well, since we're obviously not going to have glee today, we'll just leave," Jason said. They started to stand when Rachel raised her hand.

"Not so fast. Show Choir Regionals is in a few short weeks. You need all the practice you can get. However," she paused, "I think a demonstration is in order. Kurt, Blaine, you start." She and scurried off to the sides of the room as the band started to play. Kurt and Blaine just looked confused. Start what, exactly?

"Wait... I know this song," the countertenor said after a few beats. "_How long 'til next year_?"

"Th-Three and a half minutes," Blaine answered, catching on.

"... Okay?" They started to sway and dance lightly, having no idea the next lyrics. Puck was nice enough to hand them each a music sheet. By then, though, the music was already far enough along for Finn to come in.

"Coast is clear. You're supposed to be working, that's for midnight! Where are they? There isn't much time."

"Maybe they're dressing! I mean, what does one wear that's appropo for a party that's also a crime?" Kurt sang, his personality shining through.

"Chips, anyone?" Rachel asked as she bounded on stage.

"You take the girl out of New York, but you can't the New York out of the girl!" Finn improvised, earning a playful smack from Rachel, who proceeded to demand royalty.

"Be nice you two, or no God-awful champagne," Kurt laughed as Puck handed him a bottle of grape juice.

"Don't mind if I do! No luck?" she asked Blaine.

"Bolted, plywood, padlocked with a chain. A total dead end." They continued on, with Rachel's "girlfriend" as Quinn. Collins turned out to be Sam and Angel was played by none other than Puck, who screwed up falsetto so badly everyone in the room laughed.

"Five, four, three—Open sesame!" they all shouted, even ones who didn't have parts and some of the glee kids who knew the song. They started chanting, "Happy New Year! Happy New Year!"

"HAPPY NEW..." they all decrescendoed at the same time, having spotted Mr. Schue with his arms folded and a glare on his face. The band stopped playing.

"M-Mr. Schue! We were just—" Rachel tried to explain, but he held up his hand.

"I see... that you've beaten me to the punch."

They broke into smiles as the band played. The epic battle between Kurt and Mr. Schue was long-coming, but it was all in song so it worked out perfectly. When it came time for Puck to tell Mr. Schue about his cat having a fall, his voice broke; snickers erupted, but they tried to keep in character. They all chanted again, in their way of wishing Blaine a happy birthday.

Except... singing happy new year.

And when Angel's final (very high) notes came up, Puck looked to Kurt. He took them without hesitation and cast him a very apparent "you're welcome" smirk.

* * *

><p>The old friends left their old choir room together. They didn't really mind Kurt's need to Bink them, and because of it they kept from going through many rooms and avoided taking cars. They went to Breadsticks and got a private party room. They let Kurt and Blaine in through a side door in the room, which was even more helpful. Once everyone was seated, Kurt spoke up.<p>

"Wait," he said, looking up and down the table. "Where's Mercedes?"

"Oh, she called me to let you know she couldn't make it," Sam explained quickly. "She's got the flu. She wishes you a happy birthday, though, Blaine."

"She has the flu?" the worried friend gasped. "And you're not taking care of her?"

"Are you kidding? Her mom won't let me anywhere near her!"

Everyone giggled, some more nervously than others. "I guess that makes sense," Kurt whispered.

When their waiter came in, they ordered five miso soups, four seaweed salads, three soy burger dinners, two tofu dog platters, and one pasta with meatless balls. It would've been perfect, if the menu actually had any of those things on it.

Except for the pasta. They actually had the pasta.

* * *

><p>When Kurt and Blaine got home after wishing everyone a good flight to wherever it was they were going, they were extremely tired.<p>

"Have a good birthday?" the taller asked. Blaine smiled.

"Would you believe me if I said I couldn't have ask for anything more?"

"That's a shame," Kurt sighed, taking off his jacket and hanging it up. He'd clean it thoroughly in the morning. "I haven't given you my present yet."

"I thought your present was...?" he trailed off. Kurt shook his head. "Then what is your present?"

"I've been thinking of the best way all day."_ Is he... blushing?_ "You have to promise not to move, alright? And close your eyes."

Blaine obliged. He waited for a few moments.

And the sun was blocked out by the wave of shock and pleasure that hit Blaine the moment soft, smooth, warm lips tenderly and tentatively met his own. He forced himself not retaliate. He was asked not to move, so he wouldn't. He was allowed to float on Cloud Nine for only three seconds before the kiss was broken.

"Happy Birthday, Blaine."

"Thanks. I think that I'm going to go take a shower, now," Blaine announced, turning slowly and heading down the hall to the bathroom. Kurt managed a small, nervous giggle once he had left. Did he really just kiss Blaine? That was a no-no. He wasn't getting that again next year.

Kurt hummed as he straightened small things in the living room. The water for the shower had started by now and he was lacking something to do. It was then that he saw the small, blinking red light. Unthinkingly, he pressed _Play_. He assumed it to be from Mercedes or something.

**You Have: One New Message**

"Dr. Anderson, this is Dr. Rogers." _Oh God, him again? What does he want?_ "It would be best if you were alone before relaying this message." A pause. Yeah, like Kurt was going to go anywhere. Blaine never had to know. "I'm assuming you're alone now. I just called to tell you that the Board has reviewed the experiment's data. They've decided to pull the plug. They'll be there to pick up the patient—Kurt—in about three months. You don't have to come in for the next check-up. I'm sorry it ended this way."

He sounded sincere.

The loud beep signified the end of the message. But that couldn't be all. It couldn't be the end. He had made some valuable progress today, and they were just going to end it all!

Kurt stumbled backwards into the sofa, forcing him to sit. He sat, just breathing, for an unknown amount of time. When the water stopped, Kurt made up his mind. He turned to the phone.

**You Have: One Old Message.**

__**Beep**___**.**_

**You Have: No Messages.**

* * *

><p><em><em>!

Julia opened the door. Felix stood there, soaking. Strangely, it wasn't raining.

"Come on in, you're soaked!"

He entered Andrew's house, shivering violently. Andrew's mother took one look at the kid and went to make soup, fretting over him and telling everyone to keep him warm.

"You may be waiting for that soup a while. It takes her like, an hour to make soup!" Andrew laughed. He drew a card. "Oh, _Sorry!_ Alex." He bumped her piece and placed his own there.

"I know. That's why I jumped in your neighbor's pool before I came," he said smugly. Everyone turned their attention to him. "You know how I got detention earlier, right?"

"Yeah. You missed Glee because of it. You're actually pretty lucky," Carla sneered, thinking about it.

"I didn't really get detention," he admitted. "I faked it."

"Why?" Alex asked what everyone was thinking.

"To get this!" He dug into the front pocket of his backpack and set a leather-bound book, used probably for the novelty of it, on the coffee table. Andrew took the game and shoved it aside, where it clattered to the floor. They all just stared at the words written on the cover.

__This Journal is the Property of Kurt Hummel.  
><em>___Proof Positive.__

* * *

><p><strong>*Sam and the winner of the glee project. Oh yeah, I'm thinking ahead.<strong>

**Sorry this took ****so**** long. I've just been having a rough time writing lately and I'm not quite sure why. I've come up with multiple ideas for new fics, by the way, so be sure to check out my page for a poll on which I should do!**

**70 exclamation points were used in the making of this chapter. **


	11. Fireflies Are Never Alone

**To make it easier on the eyes, the journal writings won't be in italics. Instead, there will be breaks when it changes from diary to present, from present to diary, and between diary entries. I don't want you guys needing super strong glasses like me.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. And I fear I bever will, unless it turns out I'm Ryan Murphy's secret daughter.**

**Rating Warning: Read at your own risk...**

**Previously on Gleephobia: You must be pretty lazy to actually read these things. On Blaine's birthday, the old New Directions came together and celebrated. While they did so, Felix stole Kurt's journal and brought it to Andrew's house, where everyone met on Thursdays. He presents it to everyone there...**

* * *

><p>They continued to stare, quite unsure of what to do with it. It was in exquisite condition; it almost seemed like a sin to touch it. Of course, someone had to. That someone was Jason.<p>

"Hey! Don't do that!" Alex protested. Jason ignored her, flipping to the first page.

"I'll read it aloud. We only need to find what the hell's wrong with him." He cleared his throat. "_September 2, 2018—_"

"Oh my God, that was four whole years ago!" Julia gasped.

"Four years and five months ago," Miles corrected her.

"Yeah. Let me finish..."

* * *

><p>I've never written in a journal before. It feels like I'm talking to myself. But Blaine said it might help. You know, writing down experiences. I guess I could try.<p>

We just moved into a dorm! It feels like I'm finally getting to connect with real life again. We're going to become teachers. It's going to be so rewarding in the long run. I hope

* * *

><p>"Blah blah blah, where's the juicy stuff?" Jason complained, flipping pages. Alex cried out in protest, but again he ignored her.<p>

"Maybe we should read it in order, just in case?" Felix suggested. Jason grunted, moving on to the next date.

* * *

><p><em>September 3, 2018<em>

First day of classes was rough. Everyone stared and glared and jeered and jerked away when I tried to poke them. It was even worse in the halls. I know I'm not doing that again. I told Blaine as much (though he was there the whole time, and probably realized it on his own), and he relayed the message to the teachers. We now get all our lectures live as they happen, but from the safety and calming atmosphere of our dorm room on our laptops. I love technology.

Oh, right, I forgot. You're a journal! You don't know what I'm talking about! See, have this compulsion to poke everyone and say the word "Bink" whenever I enter a room with new people or whenever new people enter the room I'm in. I think Blaine's adjusting to that well.

Well, what do you know? It did feel good writing it down. Right now I have to finish this essay. It's not due until next week, but what else am I going to do with my life?

* * *

><p><em>September 4, 2018<em>

I wondered how they would get food to us. You know, considering I can't go to a cafeteria or grocery store. Turns out they actually thought ahead on that one! Food is going to be delivered to our dorm room door every week to keep us fed.

But they also thought ahead to my little habit of painting and setting up! They granted me the closet just across the way. Within fifty feet of the room, even! I'm going to go and start painting it now. The delivery guy from earlier even gave me some paint! Guess they don't want a scene.

By the way, "they" is the Board. I'm not sure what they're the Board of, but they're running the experiment that safely allowed me to leave the Ward. But I'm just a pawn. Blaine's just a pawn. The other patient and his (her?) keeper are just pawns. Like boxes in a cage. What's the point in the end?

* * *

><p><em>September 6, 2018<em>

Sorry about not writing yesterday. There was so much noise everywhere. I now officially hate Fridays. Everyone in the dorms go completely crazy and loud and make funny moaning noises. I asked Blaine what they could possibly be doing. He didn't answer. He really didn't have to, I'm not dense. But it was still the slightest bit of fun seeing him so uncomfortable. Even if it made me uncomfortable, too.

I think it was the first bit of fun I've had in a while. I could get used to it.

* * *

><p><em>September 10, 2018<em>

I've taken notice that these journal entries are quite short and have revealed very little. It's not that I don't trust you, I do. You actually seem pretty therapeutic. I just don't trust whoever could sneak in and read it. I wouldn't put it past any of those brutes who would like to call themselves students. It's a sad, sad day when a pencil is used as a... well... I don't want to talk about exactly what it _could be_ and _is_ used for around here. I feel sick. I'm going to stop writing now.

* * *

><p>"This is taking too long," Jason said again.<p>

"How about we choose random dates and see what the hell we get?" Carla suggested. Others nodded. "Alright, go to October 31, 2018."

* * *

><p>I hate this. I hate this so much. It's not fun. It's not funny. We can't keep the door open with the door screen keeping the hallway out, like we usually do. Boys (and girls, even) run past with terrifying masks, thinking it's an exciting time. We had to close the door. I sat by the open window for a while, clearing my own nerves. Not a good idea.<p>

They started egging the window I was sitting in. I wasn't hit, thank Gaga. They would've really heard a blood-curdling scream then. But our carpet was hit with one before I could close the window. I managed to get the stain up, but now there's nothing distracting me from this hellhole I'm in. I'm shut in a room. There's no way out. Blaine called it Cleithrophobia. I call it a new torture method.

It feels like the door is never going to open again. I'm going to go cry now.

* * *

><p>"That was depressing," Carla admitted.<p>

"I never thought of Halloween like that before." Andrew added, "Especially not what it might feel like to Mr. Hummel. I guess it could be kind of scary. And not in that usual, fun, Halloween-type way."

"Whatever," Jason brushed off. "Next date?"

"Christmas!" some chorused.

"Christmas Eve, first!" Julia suggested.

* * *

><p><em>December 24, 2018<em>

December 24, 9pm, Eastern Standard Time. I had to. I don't know why, but I had to.

Christmas Eve. Like every other day, isn't it? Blaine said something to me earlier today and it had me thinking. He said, "We are never alone. That is the message of Christmas." And it had me thinking into some Broadway plays._ Into the Woods_, mainly. Not well known, but it had a song entitled _No One is Alone_. And now I can't get it out of my head.

Is it true? Is someone on my side? I know for sure there are people who aren't. I guess Blaine's on my side. Yes, I suppose Christmas is a time to remember that we aren't alone. But Christmas can still be awfully lonely.

* * *

><p><em>December 25, 2018<em>

It's very peaceful. It's very quiet. No one in the dorms but us. Everyone went home to their families. I honestly don't know what became of my family. I should ask, shouldn't I? But I just don't want to know. I'm going to go paint.

* * *

><p>"Any others?"<p>

"Can we skip to 2020 Valentine's day?"

"What? Why?" Jason turned to Ashley. "Why not 2019 or something?"

"Because we'll be here all day!"

Jason flipped to the page. "No input for that day. I'll check 2019, anyway."

* * *

><p><em>February 14, 2019<em>

I don't know why I'm writing. I don't like today. They're making those horrible noises again, almost as if it was a joyous time. I'm trying not to hurl. I think I'm going to go sit in my closet. I finished painting already. Yes, the closet was that small.

* * *

><p>"Hey, let's check my birthday!" Jason suggested. He flipped ahead.<p>

"When's that?" Kyle asked dumbly.

"June 21! Represent!" he whooped. When he made it to the page, he stopped. "Man, no entry for 2018. Let's try the next year."

"Well, the diary started in _September_ of 2018..." Link pointed out.

He flipped more pages. "None for 2019, either? What the hell!" He flipped more and more pages, making a disgruntled face at every point where there was no entry. He stopped. "Finally! 2022!"

"_Last year_?" Mira gaped, having stated the obvious.

"Seven and a half months, I think," Miles correct quickly.

"His diary held four years of entries?" Andrew gaped.

* * *

><p>I've never written today. I never could. It hurts too much. I can't go on without letting something out, though.<p>

It was a dark and stormy night. I'll never forget the way the drops bombarded the window panes. I'll never forget anything about that day. It was five days after our graduation and we were still celebrating our freedom from that place. We ate, laughed, and remembered the good times with Mr. Schue and each other before we would inevitably go our separate ways. I don't know why everyone was constantly at my house; Puck's had less rules. But regardless, we had run out of candy and chips, which is what everyone had lived off of for the past week. Everyone drew straws to see who would go out in the pouring rain to grab some more.

Turns out there were two short straws.

After a few innuendos about me getting the "short stick", they all waved goodbye and told me to be careful. I remember Brittany bursting into tears and begging for her dolphin not to go out in the storm. I reminded her that dolphins could swim before I slipped out of the door. That would be the last time they saw us as who we used to be.

We rode in silence. Looking back, I wish, more than anything, that we had spoke. If we knew what was coming, we probably would have.

I pulled into the parking lot. It seemed like no one else was crazy enough to leave their homes. But this corner shop was only down the street from where we lived, and much less of a hassle. If it wasn't raining and dangerous, we would've gone down the road more to an actual grocery store.

We bought many bags of chips and even more packs of candy. I knew the guys would thank us later. The cashier just handed me my bag and went right back to sleeping. We left without a word to the guy.

When we made it back out into the pouring rain, I realized: this dolphin could not swim. If it were possible, the rain was falling even harder. I could barely make out my car. But we never made it back to it, so it's not like it mattered.

I heard a scream. It was a shriek really. Not quite a squeal. I turned to her, was she alright? But I didn't get to see. Someone's knuckles collided with the side of my forehead, just over my temple.

When I awoke, at first I was amazed I wasn't dead. I knew getting punched in the temple could kill someone, but there I was, waking up. I wish I hadn't. I ached everywhere, but somehow I managed to roll myself over from my faceplant on the dirty black floor. There was no light in the room and now that I had gotten over the shock of being alive, I began questioning where on earth I was.

I eased into a sitting position. It felt like I had been hit with a baseball bat instead of a fist. My eyes were adjusting to the dark, and when I turned my head I saw the outline of a person in the far corner. It was like something out of a horror movie. A shadow person.

"Easy, kid. Don't strain yourself. If we're lucky, it'll all be over soon," the figure—a man—cooed.

"What do you want with me?" I asked. It didn't come out as forcefully as I had hoped.

"Me? I want nothing with you. I'm in the same situation as you."

So at least I wasn't alone in the godforsaken place. I found out his name was Jack, he was twenty-seven years old, and he was a teacher. He had two daughters, ages fifteen and sixteen, who were here as well, but not in the room. I asked where "here" was. He replied with a simple "Hell".

I never used to believe in Hell, nor Heaven. If God didn't exist, why should Satan? It helped me feel a little bit better. No good, no bad either. Only life. There was no afterlife, not for the atheist. But in a span of just thirty minutes, I ate my own words. Satan existed. God still didn't.

I told him that I wasn't alone either. He nodded, and told me that my "friend" (I'm still not sure why he made air quotations) would be where his daughters were being held.

Ten minutes after meeting Jack, a door opened somewhere on the far side of the room. The darkness was covered with light and it burned my eyes. The second the door opened, I heard a sound much like a light coming on. It was strange, almost like a _bink_. Jack and I both squinted in order not to kill our retinas. We heard a subtle "oof" and a "gah" and a collection of groans. The door shut and Jack swiftly moved over to his daughters.

"Kurt, buddy. Is this your friend?"

I was up in a heartbeat, regardless of how much it hurt. I kneeled beside her. I tried to brush hair from her eyes, only to feel something very sticky. I thought it was blood, but I couldn't tell where she was bleeding from. It didn't bother me at the time; I was only worried about whether or not she was breathing.

And she was. She was even groaning in pain.

I tried to brush her hair away again, but she jerked up and smacked my hand violently. She was gasping and panting while Jack tried to comfort her with words. "It's over." he said. "They aren't here now." and "You're safe."

I examined my fingers. I couldn't see them being red. In fact, the blood was awfully jelly-like in texture. I sniffed it. That was certainly not blood. It smelled like bleach. I was ninety percent sure it was semen by this point.

The door opened again. The light came on and the _bink_ sound was heard again. I looked above the door. A little green sign was there. That was what binked on whenever the door opened and turned off when it closed.

Two hulking figures entered. Men, for sure. I thought they had come back for her, and Jack assumed the same. He clutched protectively to his daughters, who appeared not to have much clothing left. She was the same; ripped, torn, and bloodied. With real blood this time.

But they weren't there for them. They were there for me.

Knowing exactly what was coming only made it harder. The two held me down while a third...

It seemed to last for hours. They had an endless amount of stamina. My brain was working on overdrive, taking in as much information as possible, but I was emotionally numb at the time. I could feel the pain, knew what they were doing. Blood came from places that blood simply shouldn't come from. But it all seemed to insignificant.

Instead, I kept hearing things. Songs, mainly. _Don't Rain on My Parade_, we win Sectionals our first year. _Blackbird_, Pavarotti was dead. _Somewhere Only We Know_, the Warblers were saying goodbye. But most prominently, to the point I can still remember the xylophone, _Pure Imagination_. But I didn't remember Jean's funeral. I was in the present, as it was happening; I was just standing to the side and watching. It was as if my subconscious was telling me it was all a dream, and it would be okay.

But the moment my face collided with the dirty floor for a second time, the music stopped. It felt like hours later, but it couldn't have been more than one. I could hear Jack's voice. His daughters. Her. The memories of what just happened flooded my mind in flashes. I couldn't hold back the tears as they mixed with blood and semen. I couldn't bare being touched or physically comforted.

It went on like that. It seemed like every hour they hungered for more. Sometimes they didn't even use themselves. They used whatever they could find. Wrenches, a beer bottle, the handle of an antique sword, whatever. Sometimes they would take one or two. Other times they would take all four of us. Jack was never taken, and I didn't know why.

But one time, that changed. They wanted her and Jack. But she had had enough. She had to have been taken at least a dozen times. The damn fool just refused to go, kicking one of them clangers. It sounded like a fantastic idea; I had nothing more to live for, right? We'd never get out of there, so why not go down fighting?

I got up to help when the other punched her in the jaw. I heard a sickening crack, which only served to ignite my fury. She got back up and we both headed for the one not currently handicapped. But we were forced to stop when he pulled out a gun.

He chuckled. It almost made me want to puke, thinking that _thing—_not even a human, for what human would do such a thing?—had been so close to me. But she was only deterred for a moment. She went on and plowed into him. He was too surprised to shoot her. The gun fell a ways away. I dove for it, thinking that maybe we would get out of there. I held it up and pointed it at the one she was tussling with.

She climbed off of him. Even in the dimness where the only light came from the ajar door, I could see the smug look on her bloody face. Her mouth was slightly agape, probably because her jaw was fractured. Jack and his daughters stood up. He came over to me with a smile on his face. We had _won_. I didn't think it was possible.

Jack made the reasonable argument that I could run faster than he or his daughters, who were still in shock, which would hopefully wear off soon. I handed the gun off to Jack and bolted out the door and up the stairs. We must've been in a basement of some kind. I ran down a straight hall to what looked like an exit. The fresh air hit me hard, but it felt so good.

It was nighttime. Of course it was. I had no idea how long I had been there, but it was far too long. I ran to find a phone booth to call 911. I passed many evening pedestrians. I must've looked quite the sight with no shirt and mangled capris that used to be pants. They must have thought many things like "What happened to _him_?" and "Holy shit, did Halloween come early?" and "Those damn gays, running amok!" I know the last one for sure, because he said it aloud.

I finally found a payphone. It's amazing how few there actually are nowadays. I pressed the three numbers I needed so desperately. I didn't know where I was, and told them as much. They said they could trace the phone and to hold tight. They were on their way.

They were taking so long. In reality, it couldn't have been more than ten minutes. They showed up, took one look at me, and told me to lead the way. I ran at top speed back to where we were held. I memorized the path without realizing it. A back alleyway was where I exited and where I reentered. They were right on my tail, guns out and securing the area. I led them down the stairs. I heard the _bink _as I opened the door. Strange, I didn't remember closing it.

When I looked inside, Jack wasn't holding the thugs at gunpoint. She wasn't glaring at them using that "bitch, please" look I helped her perfect.

Instead, the burly men that were so intent on holding me down were on the ground, bleeding and most likely dead. Both were shot in the head. Jack was also on the ground, his bullet hole somewhere on the roof of his mouth and gun still in hand. And there she was. A little hole and blood pouring from between the eyes. Eyes that were still open. Eyes that were a beautiful dark brown.

The next thing I know, I'm surrounded by white. White, so much white. Too much white. White like the sclera of an eye. Of eyes. Of her eyes.

It was odd. My memory is impeccable of that day (or rather, days), yet I don't actually remember losing consciousness the second time. But the nurse that was there checking my IV bag noticed my attentiveness. She asked if I was fully awake and I managed a nod. She asked if I wanted an immediate rape kit done.

Of course I did.

Four hours and a very uncomfortable experience later, I was back in the hospital room. It was still so white.

The door opened. I expected it to go _bink_, but it didn't. It just creaked a little bit. A man peered in. I was absolutely terrified. They had come back for me! I screamed and tried to get away, but the door opened fully. It was just my father. I relaxed slightly, but he looked so worried and guilty.

I wouldn't let him touch me. Nor Carole. Nor Finn. Nor anyone else in New Directions that came. Not even Blaine. I didn't want to be touched. The doctors—female doctors and nurses, never male—touched only as much as they had to. I screamed whenever they did.

I wanted to see her. She was certainly alright. I told my father as much. He was there almost constantly. When I asked him where she was, he excused himself and got a doctor. The doctor asked me where I thought she was. Of course, she was in the hospital, too. The doctor took my father outside. I never did get to know what they were talking about.

I started getting headaches. They gave me Ibuprofen, but it didn't help. I could remember every little detail of what happened since the rain fell on the window panes just three days ago. I had the problem of not being able to forget anything. And it hurt.

Eventually they found something to subdue that, adding to the pile of medication I was on.

I was able to go home a week later, if I wanted. Of course I wanted. I wanted something to be normal. The moment I stepped into the house, I gasped. Everything was dirty. Thick, black grime. Sludge. Dust. Blood, even. My father asked what was wrong. He couldn't see the filth. I immediately went under the sink and pulled out the strongest cleaning solutions we had and went to work.

I only got worse and worse from there. My mind couldn't stand not hearing that bink sound, so I began to supply it myself.

I talked to people that no one could see, having conversations with Jack and asking him what I should do now. I refused to go to NYU, it was too late. He said I should become a teacher, like him. I wasn't so sure.

I wake up every night, screaming and thrashing. Never quite remembering exactly what I had been dreaming about.

I demand that every door be at least cracked and that some windows had to be open. It felt like less of a prison when there were many escape routes.

I fear sex and anything to do with love. I used to enjoy those romantic comedies. Now I can only see the downside, what could happen behind the scenes. What they don't expect. Mostly about heartbreak, rape, and death.

I started fearing my own medication. I felt like it was making me the way I was.

I couldn't stand being home alone. If I ever was, I violently destroyed things while I cried and screamed. It was like someone else had taken over and was doing it against my will. When everyone else in the house was at work, someone from New Directions usually found a way to make it over so I wouldn't be alone. Usually it was Blaine, who didn't have to support himself with a job quite yet.

The most worrisome actually had me brought into the hospital. I was experiencing respiratory difficulties and felt like I was going crazy and was about to die. I was nauseous and trembling and feared I might be having a heart attack. The doctors diagnosed it as a panic attack, and warned that it will most probably occur again in the future. It did.

A month after the initial taking of it, the rape kit results came back. I was negative for the STDs they scanned for. They found that the semen matched those of two of the dead males found on sight. A third remained unmatched.

Three months later, I had to take the STD tests again. HIV positive. Someone screwed up and didn't give me the prophylaxis that could've prevented the infection. It doesn't matter much, though. It's virtually under control.

There came a point when I was so horribly held together that the doctor suggested a psychiatric hospital. My father was hesitant, but I begged him to check me in. I couldn't bare the thought of doing it myself, yet I wanted a safe place. I wanted to get out of that house most of all. Everywhere I turned was another place that I had a panic attack and I had to get away. He obliged.

I found myself asking for paints of a grey to black shade. I settled on gunmetal black and asked for a room or a closet. They allowed me access to a spare room. I painted it entirely, top to bottom. I asked for a big, rectangular green light. Thirty by ten inches. I wired it (I do thank my father for teaching me basic mechanics) to turn on when the door opened and off when it closed. But I could never recreate that _bink_ sound. Other than that, it was perfect.

I still do the recreation. It's just another obsession.

Six years pass that way. Every year, I redo the room. Every day, the exact same. I helped the maids that clean my room daily. If it meets my standards, they're free to go. It was a pitiful existence. My friends stopped visiting and my family eventually gave up.

I hear his daughters are still out there. That they ran, too, after I had left. I hope to one day meet them again. Just to see if they're as broken as I am_._

I know that third man is out there. He'll be caught, for sure. But I don't know how much longer I can wait for Olivia Benson to come up to me and tell me "I want you to know that he's dead. He was murdered in a cab last night." Sometimes, in the deepest pit of my desires, I wish I could be the one that does it. The one that snuffs out his flame. I know she wants to, and I just might have to do it for her.

The dead tell no tales, and if they do, no one listens. Only the dead who haven't died yet can unleash their fury.

* * *

><p>"That's the end of the entry," Jason announced solemnly. He turned the page and scanned it. "The next day just continues on as if the other one never took place."<p>

"Wow," Mira said, speechless.

"Yes, 'wow'," her twin agreed.

"I-I never thought _that_..."

"I don't think any of us thought that, Julia," Link sighed.

"D-Do you think any of the teachers know? The Principal, maybe?" Ashley asked.

"Oh yeah, I can see Figgins now!" Ryan impersonated, "'But Mr. Hummel! I do not understand why you would want to be a teacher when you have your condition!'"

"That... wasn't funny, but okay," his girlfriend mumbled.

"If anyone knew, it would be Principal Figgins, because he did the hiring; and Coach Sylvester, because she knows everything. And Mr. Schuester, because they're so close," Miles added as an afterthought.

"'Kurt, buddy, why are you doing that? Brad doesn't need his piano dry cleaned!' Get it? That was Mr. Schue!" Ryan explained his joke, making it that much worse.

"Better, but still no."

"Whoever knows about his condition probably wouldn't know the _full_ reasons behind it," Jason said, steering the conversation back where it belonged. "And if I knew one thing, it would be that if Hummel found out we had his journal, he would _kill_ us."

"Yes, I would."

"Hey, that's much better!" Julia praised Ryan.

A look of sheer horror crossed his features. "That wasn't me."

Slowly, the eyes in the room turned to face the speaker who stood with his arms folded in the threshold of the kitchen and living room.

"Hello, children. I think you have something of mine."

* * *

><p><strong>Shit's going down! So... How was your day? Your weekend? Do anything special? Well... Um... I'd like to thank the one person who voted on my poll. Yeah. So I guess I'm going to stop this author's note now. Or not. I actually have to tell you: Kurt's story should be summed up in two non-consecutive chapters. What does this mean? There will be at least three more chapters (at <em>least<em>, the _very_ minimum) and an epilogue. **

***sips imaginary soda and puffs imaginary candy cigarette* Yep.**


	12. Unspoken

**I've taken down the poll. If I had known that my sister would e-mail me and I would get such a brilliant idea that I haven't even formulated it entirely yet, then I wouldn't have put it up in the first place. I'm getting to work on jotting down ideas for the new plot, so expect some update on that project soon.**

**There was also a bit of headdesking involved in the creation of this chapter. I knew what I wanted to say and what to happen, but it just wouldn't get down on the paper. That, my friends, is truly the worst kind of Writer's Block.**

**Disclaimer: I, Kagura, do not own Glee. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to own a Chris Colfer or Darren Criss, but that's a dream that is near impossible. Unless they come out with plushies! **

**Previously on Gleephobia: _Shit's going down_! All you need to know. Mainly because I'm too lazy to write an appropriate POG.**

* * *

><p>"Hand me the journal, Jason," Mr. Hummel asked kindly, his hand outstretched just past the threshold. Jason clutched it tightly.<p>

"No."

"Jason!" Julia whispered through her teeth. "Give it to him!"

"Or what? He can't do anything about it!" he sneered. "Hey, Hummel! Where's your keeper?"

The teacher's fingers curled in to his palm. Kurt sidestepped slightly, revealing Blaine and his ever-present clipboard; he held up his hands to show innocence. "I'm staying out of this!"

Kurt returned to his place. "The journal, Jason. Please?"

"Or what?" the student goaded. "I'm the one with the leverage! I've got your precious journal! I'm the one calling the shots here!"

"Jason, maybe you should give it back..."

"No way, nerd!" Miles seemed affronted by the insult. "I'm the one with what he wants! He should be doing what I say!"

"Okay, okay! Settle down," Mr. Hummel commanded. "Now, who's saying that you have leverage?"

"I have your journal," Jason replied weakly.

"Yes. And that's not really leverage."

"B-But it has all of your deepest, darkest thoughts and secrets in it! I-I could burn it and then what, huh?"

"Then I wouldn't have a journal," Kurt shrugged. "Look, Jason, before journals there was this wonderful and eternal piece of paper known as the Hippocampus."

"They kill, like, three hundred people a year," Kyle stated. Kurt brushed it off. He seemed to be used to that, somehow.

"Hippo-what?"

"Hippocampus," he repeated. To the confused looks, he explained by tapping his temple. "Memory."

A hand amongst the teenagers was raised. Mr. Hummel pointed to her.

"Um, Monsieur Hummel, I understand that this is your journal and I'm sure that Jason will give it back. It's just... in it you didn't explain what happened after those six years. How you... got out."

Kurt, being a teacher, could tell when interest levels are high and when they are low. The interest levels in the room now were through the roof after Alex said this. He pondered briefly.

"If I tell you what comes after, then will you give me my journal?"

"Maybe," Jason answered.

"Fine, pull up a chair. Get comfortable," the French teacher ordered. He stayed behind the threshold, absolutely refusing to go in the room.

* * *

><p><strong>Quickie AN: The normal writing is Kurt talking, italics is Blaine adding in.**

It was July 23, 2018.

_I thought it was the 24th?_

Who's the one with the freakishly amazing memory?

… _You are..._

Yes I am. Now, it was the 23rd of July. It was an extremely cool sixty-four degrees out and the clouds had been looming in the sky for a week, drizzling on and off. I distinctly remember passing the time after breakfast by twiddling my thumbs. It's a wonderful pastime if you do it right.

Around lunchtime, a nurse knocked at my door. She told me I had a visitor. It was odd; no one visited me anymore. I drove them all away. For all I knew, it could've been a doctor storming in to tell me they had found a cure for AIDS or it could've been Carole telling me my dad was dead. Any guess I had was just as possible as the next.

But what I didn't expect was a good friend of mine. Blaine, here. He comes walking in like there wasn't a care in the world—

_I'll have you know—_

Freakishly amazing memory, Blaine. Don't argue with it. Now hush for a while.

He walked in, right up to me as if it were old times. That "old times" bubble was popped the moment I jabbed him and muttered a soft _Bink_ under my breath. He was actually the first male I had not screamed in the presence of in six years.

I sat up by the pillow, silently thinking, _Criss-Cross Applesauce!_ and folding my legs that way. Blaine sat by the foot of the bed and we just stared at each other. Fifteen minutes in, a nurse peered in to see why it was so quiet. I could tell she was wondering if I had killed him.

After the door closed behind her, he spoke.

"So, how has life been?"

I wasn't sure if it was some kind of a trick or... just an honest question. I decided to answer it anyway.

"Oh, the usual. Sitting in a box, same as when you left."

In hindsight, that was probably harsh.

_It was a little harsh._

Hush, Blaine. At the time, it felt good to vent.

_That's not venting. That's literally just answering a question in a slightly harsh manner._

It was venting to me. Anyhow, Blaine took it in stride and just shot another question.

"Do you want to know what I went through to be able to sit right here?"

I nodded, and he told me. The fool had spent the last six years becoming a psychologist. He said he would've become a psychiatrist, but that would've taken thirteen years instead of just six. I wasn't quite sure why he had even become a psychologist. He could've visited me at any time.

"But," he said, producing a small book from his back pocket, "Now that I'm a psychologist I have the full training required to look after someone in the Psychiatric Ward, despite me not being a psychiatrist." He flipped a few pages of the book. "It's a really weird system."

I wasn't sure where he was going with that subject.

"But moving on." He shut the book. "In a nutshell, I have the status to sign you out of the Ward for a few hours at a time. What do you say?"

I suppose that's where he was going with the subject.

"That's nice, Blaine, but I can't," I shrugged.

"Can't or won't?"

_I really did see right through you, didn't I?_

Sort of. I wouldn't, but I physically couldn't at the same time.

Blaine eventually left, promising to return. He wasn't going to give up. The next day, he lived up to his promise. We sat and spoke. It was like no time had passed between the two visits. He came back day after day, staying longer and longer each time. The night of July 31st, he didn't leave at all. He just slept on the floor.

When he left for the next night and came back on August 2nd, he told me about a dream he had.

"There were lightning bugs everywhere, Kurt," he said. He was like a kid in a candy store; jumping up and down and his excitement was intoxicating. "We were in this open field and they were just covering the place! It was almost like the sun was out and there was no end to the... the ten million fireflies."

He came back the next morning with a jar of fireflies. It was odd that they were still out this late in summer. It must have meant something.

What Blaine didn't tell me when he visited all those times, was that he was planning something. A way to get me out of the Ward permanently without my father's written signature. Usually, the person that signs you in has to be the person to sign you out. It would've made his job so much easier if I had signed myself in. But I still didn't want to leave. It may have been a dull existence, but it was safe.

On August 15th, Blaine came to me with his plan.

There would be two doctors and two patients involved in the experiment. One doctor would be a psychologist, the other would be a psychiatrist. Both patients would have semi-similar conditions. The idea was to see if the two patients could make a living and survive a normal life. The doctors would be there to assist and record the results. It was more of a double experiment: one was with the patients and the other was with the two types of psychological specialists.

For this to succeed, routine check-ups from a certified doctor would be necessary to compare progress. Blaine did the research and found a Dr. Fred Rogers fit the criteria. In fact, Blaine did all the research on every little thing. The neighborhood each patient would live in (similar social statuses, but they couldn't be too close lest interaction take place), the jobs and education they wished to partake in, specific fears, etc. The doctors would watch the patients and document their actions on paper. The patients couldn't run away, so a fifty feet limit was set to prevent that.

What he hoped would get the Board to consider was that it wouldn't cost them very much, in theory. The jobs the patients (and possibly their doctors) took would pay for their food, living quarters, and everything else. Once everything was paid for, the Board got to keep the rest.

Two days after Blaine told me about the plan, the Board accepted it. Now they just needed two good patients and two good doctors. I knew Blaine's intention. But I had developed Agoraphobia by this point and was terrified of leaving. The fireflies started to drop off. Don't fireflies only live for a day?

_That _was_ pretty weird. Those things must've been treated like _Gods_ to live for two weeks in a jar!_

When there was just one firefly left, I knew what I had to do. That night, I snuck out of my room and tiptoed out the door. They didn't keep the doors locked or anything, the entire yard was fenced in. But once I was out front, I unscrewed the jar and let the firefly out. It disappeared somewhere over the bars, lighting up occasionally. In the morning, I surprised Blaine and myself by agreeing to take part in the experiment.

* * *

><p>"And that's basically what happened. Journal, please."<p>

"That's it?" Carla sneered.

"That's it," Mr. Hummel confirmed.

"How could that be it? There wasn't any 'inner discovery' moment!"

"Julia, Julia, Julia," he tutted. "Life is not a movie, a TV show, nor a book. Sometimes things just spontaneously happen that can't be controlled or explained. And sometimes it's good that these things happen and they work out for the best."

"And sometimes you end up with your body parts lopped off and dumped in acid right down to your head and then your bloody head gets carried off on a stick while marching around town square."

Odd looks were shot at Kyle, but no one said anything.

"You know, Mr. Hummel?" Mira spoke up. "I remember you once saying something like "everything happens for a reason" and that "people don't just change". Are you saying that what you once said isn't true and that people can just change?"

"That must have been some time ago," he brushed off. He remembered the day perfectly, of course. When Jason and the rest demanded to join glee club all those weeks ago. "I'm sure you wanted to accomplish something by your age now. Have you done it? Probably not. I can't be held accountable for what I've said in the _past_, just as you can't be held accountable for what you wanted in the past."

"Okay. Well, you said something about a fifty feet limit?" Ryan questioned on. Kurt nodded. "What happens if you break it?"

"A good question, Ryan. If you'll turn your attention to my left wrist." He held up his wrist. "The watch here is not just for telling time. It has a sensor in that that, when fifty feet from the other sensor in Blaine's watch, releases 600,000 volts of electricity into my system. Needless to say, we never press that fifty feet limit."

Silence.

"Can I have my journal, now?" the French teacher asked kindly. Jason simply glared and tossed the book down on the coffee table.

"Come and get it then."

Kurt simply shrugged and strolled into the room. He walked past the students and grabbed the leather-bound book. He flipped through it, nodded to Jason, and left the room.

They heard the back door close.

Their arms were still outstretched, waiting to be Binked.

"D-Did he just... _forget _to Bink us?"

* * *

><p>Days passed. No one mentioned the incident. At least, not aloud.<p>

* * *

><p>"... and that concludes the lesson."<p>

Konnel's lectures just got duller and duller. By this point, the only one paying some attention was Julia. Everyone else was catching up on sleep.

"Does anyone have any questions?"

Of course they didn't. No one followed the lesson. But at least now they were steadily regaining consciousness.

The teacher spoke again. "Alright, pair up. Work with each other on this worksheet." She began to pass out the papers. Everyone slowly found a friend to get together with, except one girl in the back named Nora.

"I'm all alone," she wailed. What a whiner, Jason thought.

"Calm down, Nora! No one's alone!" Julia snapped at her. She realized what she had said only too late. She immediately looked down, as did Jason, Kyle, Miles, Mira, and Link.

_Yes, I suppose Christmas is a time to remember that we aren't alone. But Christmas can still be awfully lonely._

The words hit them hard. Jason was hit the hardest, for he actually read them and saw the shaky handwriting on the page. None of the six spoke for the rest of the class.

* * *

><p>"Why are you guys so quiet today?" Mr. Anderson asked his class. They muttered quietly in response. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! Is something wrong?"<p>

"No, Mr. Anderson. I don't know about anyone else, but I didn't get to sleep until 3am last night."

A mutter of agreement rustled the room. Blaine briefly wondered if his class was suffering from exhaustion or insomnia.

"Has something been keeping you guys up at night?" he asked in concern.

"Construction by my house," the student responded with a yawn. "They're up at all hours of the night pounding away. I didn't even know that was legal. Just super loud noises that won't go away."

The student moaned as his head hit the desk.

Unseen, in the very back of class, Alex and Andrew bowed their heads.

_There was so much noise everywhere. I now officially hate Fridays. Everyone in the dorms go completely crazy and loud and make funny moaning noises._

Neither needed to say a thing to know what the other was thinking.

* * *

><p>"I can't eat this," Julia proclaimed, shoving her lunch away. The other glee kids did the same.<p>

"I thought I was the only one thinking it," Ashley sniffed. Of all the times the cafeteria could serve scrambled eggs.

_They started egging the window I was sitting in... Our carpet was hit with one before I could close the window. I managed to get the stain up, but now there's nothing distracting me from this hellhole I'm in. I'm shut in a room. There's no way out._

They all winced.

* * *

><p>By now, exactly nine days have passed since the incident. It's Valentine's Day. The English and French teachers weren't in school that day. The glee students didn't question why.<p>

_They're making those horrible noises again, almost as if it was a joyous time. I'm trying not to hurl._

They already knew why. They presented their assignment for the week (The emotion known as love, of all things) with very little personality or effort in their voices. They were almost dead inside.

* * *

><p>"Hey, wait up!"<p>

Jason turned around. It was that water boy for the hockey team. Kevin? Ken? Keese? He didn't really care. The kid was a nerd and worked on the school newspaper. He was always trying to find a way to get in with the popular guys. It just got annoying after a while.

"What do you want?" Jason snapped at him once he caught up. He wasn't in the mood. He had missed shot after shot after shot at practice and the last thing he needed was a geek fawning him.

He always seemed to get fawning and fondling mixed up.

"W-Well," the boy faltered. "Word around school is that you're fixing to figure out what's up with Hummel."

"I'm the one that _told_ you I was going to figure out what was wrong with Mr. Hummel," he grumbled. He kept on walking. The water boy tried to keep up.

"Have you?"

Jason stopped. Yes, he had. How could he have forgotten! The water boy worked on the school newspaper! He was sniffing around for the next big story!

And he had a big story. Shit. Now what?

* * *

><p><em>Ding Dong<em>.

Kurt hummed as he strolled to the door. He had been busy making tofu soup, but he left the stove in Blaine's hands. In retrospect, it wasn't smart. However, the soup was still cooking, so as long as he didn't touch anything, nothing could go wrong. He could've sent Blaine to open the door, sure, but the fumes from the onion, tomato, salt, and tofu itself had clouded his mind entirely. It was a rare occurrence, but it happens.

He turned the knob, swinging the door open with a slight creak. That needed to be oiled later.

Standing there and looking torn between glee and uncertainty, was none other than a certain strawberry blonde teenager.

"Alex? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

"I did it, Monsieur Hummel! I finally did it!" she beamed. "I thought, "Hey, if Monsieur Hummel lived through that, I can live through this!" and I decided I would! That I could! I just had this burst of courage and I... I...!"

"That's great, Alex!" Kurt smiled fondly. Blaine came out of the kitchen to see what the fuss was about. "I'm so proud of you!"

"Yeah! I sat them down and told them straight out, no beating around the bush. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders!"

"Good for you, Alex!" Blaine praised happily.

"Um... Yeah..." She immediately turned back to being uncertain and hesitant. "So can I, you know, stay here for a while?"

"Wh-What?"

"My parents kicked me out. They said they didn't want a dyke as a daughter."

Kurt sighed and the two adults shared a look. He stepped aside to let Alex in. She had a bag of her things strapped around her shoulder. After a quick Bink, they all went to sit on the couch. They sat in silence until Alex was ready to talk.

The tofu soup simmered far too long, having been forgotten.

* * *

><p><strong>I am <em>so<em> sorry this took so long. My mind has been everywhere recently. It's kind of sad, in a way. **

**I'm going to be moving soon. Now, when "soon" is, I don't even know. It was supposed to be tomorrow. Literally, everything was supposed to be packed and we were supposed to be gone by tomorrow. But it was pushed back to September. And then October. And we now haven't the faintest idea when we're moving. We don't even know _where_ we're moving. It's stressful beyond infinity. Because now, I have to restart school here for about a month before we move and start school there.**

**FML.**


	13. Dream, Little Firefly

**Very, very sorry about not updating. It's hard to find time during the day to write, what with the imminent move. Packing, unpacking. Packing, second time we didn't even BOTHER unpacking our computer. Packing, unpacking. We've decided to just sit and stay until they force us off the land. Hey, all the better. If it were up to me, we'd move ANYWHERE but Louisiana. Nothing against Louisiana, but... it's Louisiana, you know? It's not the sort of place for a Schizophrenic teenage girl who likes ocelots and sai swords and Harry Potter.**

**It's pretty stressful and school certainly isn't helping. I hope you guys understand. *sadface***

**Disclaimer: Still don't own it. Don't sue.**

**Previously on Gleephobia: Things are really spiraling out of control. Along with Blaine's memory loss, Kurt is due to return to the mental hospital in May... and Blaine doesn't know. Regionals is right around the corner for the glee club. Did I mention that Alex came out to her parents and was kicked out?**

* * *

><p>"Well, it isn't tofu soup," Kurt sighed as he returned with a plate of five peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. "But it'll have to do."<p>

He set the plate down on the coffee table and returned to his seat beside Blaine. The reserved girl reached for a sandwich and enjoyed her first bite. Neither the peanut butter nor the grape jelly were overpowering; they were in perfect balance. She didn't think sandwiches could be so perfect.

After she had finished, she sighed quietly. Alex knew they wanted to hear what happened, but were to polite to ask outright.

"It, uh, started about two hours ago," Alex began quietly. "I had been debating with myself on whether or not to do it tonight. I actually had a conversation with my stuffed bear, Wugglesworth Schnuggles, and he said he'd accepted me a long time ago, so why can't my parents? So after dinner, when I knew my dad was in his happy mood after being full, I sat them both down and just told them."

Alex paused. Her audience waited in understanding. They were both gay; could you _get_ any more understanding?

"They were quiet for a while. And then my mom gave me a long talk about therapy and fixing me, like I was a broken stereo. I tried to tell her that I wasn't broken and because of that, I didn't need to be _fixed._ But my father said that if I didn't go to therapy to be cured of my illness, I was to get out of the house. I tried to reason with him, I really did, but he wouldn't listen. He tossed me my backpack, told me I had fifteen minutes before he called the cops to remove me by force."

Blaine and Kurt looked at each other. It was like a telepathic communication of, "You can call the cops to kick your own kid out of the house?" with the reply of, "Apparently."

"I wasn't sure where I could go. Julia's was closer, but..." Alex blushed, "but I hoped you guys wouldn't mind?"

"Of course we don't mind, Alex," Kurt assured her. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. The spare room is down the hall, second right."

"Thanks, Monsieur Hummel. Thanks, Mr. Anderson. I don't know what I'd do without you."

* * *

><p>Alex was just getting ready for bed when someone knocked on her door. "Come on in," she called. Mr. Anderson slipped inside, opening the door as little as possible.<p>

"Mr. Anderson? Is something wrong?" she asked worriedly.

"No, nothing's _wrong_, per se," he assured her. "It's just—well, sit down here with me for a second."

Blaine sat on the edge of the twin bed and after a moment of hesitation, Alex sat next to him. He seemed to be searching for the right words as he pat her hand.

"Alex, this may sound _really_ bad," he warned, "but if you hear screaming in the middle of the night, ignore it."

"S-Screaming? Ignore it? What?"

"Sometimes," Blaine drew out the word to give himself more time to think, "when something happens that's seen almost as a threat to the people he cares about—such as you getting kicked out, for example—Kurt has... Not really nightmares, but a very extreme case of night terrors. To the point where I can't wake him up while they're occurring. And he doesn't remember it in the morning."

"Oh..." Alex whispered.

"I believe 'Oh' is the Understatement of the Year," Blaine smiled, lifting the mood. "Just don't worry and if you can, get back to sleep. It doesn't tend to last too long."

With a final pat on her hand, Blaine stood and left the room.

* * *

><p>Kurt opened his eyes. The sky was dark and scattered with stars. Nighttime? What was he doing outside?<p>

"Kurt?"

He sat up. Strangely enough, despite being on the ground with dirt and bugs, he wasn't bothered. Not for the germs nor his clothes.

"Kurt?"

He looked around. Blaine was calling him, but where was Blaine?

"Kurt?"

He was in a clearing of some kind, possibly a meadow; it was too dark to really tell. Were those trees? He assumed. The meadow was only fifty feet across—he knew what that length looked like.

"Kurt?"

"Blaine? Where are you?" he tried. Kurt pushed himself up so that his feet were—most comfortingly—the only part of him on the ground. However, he received no answer, which worried him.

"Kurt?"

Kurt turned around. There he was. He wasn't there a moment ago, but he was now. "Blaine! What's going on?"

Blaine just looked at him blankly. "What do you mean, Kurt? Don't you remember what happened?"

"What happened?" he echoed. He most certainly did not remember what happened.

"Come on. We're going to be late for our reservations."

Blaine grabbed Kurt's wrist (it didn't bother him in the least. Odd.) and led him through the trees to a building that was still in the forest. Fireflies lit the way.

Blaine charged right inside. The waitress looked up.

"Are you apart of the party?" she asked. Kurt's mouth was hanging open.

"Coach Sylvester? Why are you a waitress?"

"Yes, we are," Blaine affirmed, pretending not to hear Kurt. The coach, dressed in a white with black stripes tracksuit, pointed to a door; Blaine led Kurt right through it. Inside was a small table that seats five; three were already occupied by Alex, Jason, and Mercedes.

Alex appeared to be drinking very heavily out of depression. Mercedes was rubbing her back and trying to get her to stop by whispering to her. Jason was just along for the ride.

Blaine pulled a chair out for Kurt, who sat down. He then occupied the seat beside him. There was overall silence. Alex took a few more shots of tequila.

Just then, a man entered the room. Kurt assumed it to be the waiter. He still didn't need to Bink anyone, and it felt good. The man stopped beside Blaine.

"Excuse me, sir?" he said. "I couldn't help noticing you back where I was sitting. And I was wondering..." The man, good looking even by Kurt's standards, knelt down. "if you would marry me?"

Kurt just looked on in disbelief. Who goes up to someone and asks to marry them? It was almost laughable!

"Okay."

He had to do a double-take. Did Blaine just say_ yes_? What the hell was going on! The man put a shiny silver band on Blaine's third finger. And then their lips met for a kiss.

And Kurt was _pissed_.

"Kurt, look! I'm getting married!" he squealed.

"No you're _not_!" Kurt shouted, his eyes watering. He jumped from his chair and dug in his pockets. Somehow, he knew that he'd have something in there to help. He pulled out a grey, football-shaped thing. Somehow, he knew it was a hornet's nest, and didn't question it.

He threw it violently at the man and his perfectly slicked-back red hair, wanting his face to be stung. Wanting him to be allergic. Wanting him to suffer. The hornets burst from the small hole and started stinging the closest thing to them.

But Kurt couldn't hang around. He ran from the room, tears streaming down his face. He didn't see Coach Sylvester as he ran from the restaurant and down a different forest path.

Unfortunately, that forest path was filled with bugs.

A huge Black Widow blocked his path. It was perched mightily on a web stretching the width of the trail. It hissed at him, so he turned into the forest. He had to get as far away from Blaine as possible, wherever that may take him.

It took him into a swamp. He waded through the knee high water, not caring about his clothes for the second time. When he reached the bank, his calves were on fire. He looked down (he didn't remember wearing shorts...) to find leeches stuck all over, huge and fat. He tried scraping them off, but they wouldn't budge.

"Kurt?"

He didn't have time to stand around, Blaine was catching up. He took off at a run. His legs were getting numb, but he plowed on.

"Kurt?"

He looked down when he heard a crunch. He had crushed a giant millipede, but there were at least a dozen more, and they were rather angry. His legs finally gave out.

"KURT!"

"No... No, get away," Kurt whimpered.

"Kurt! Help me!"

He looked up. There was that man. Rage coursed through Kurt's veins. The man was holding a knife to Blaine's throat. As upset as he was with Blaine, he certainly didn't want to see him dead.

"Get away from him!" Kurt yelled at the man. The man started to laugh. That laugh. A kind of sickly laugh. A sickly laugh that made Kurt sick.

"Monsieur Hummel?"

"Alex?" the phobia-ridden man gasped. There she was. "Alex! RUN! Get help! Fast! Run, Alex, run!" But it was too late. There the man was. His hair was just as tamed a red as hers. He cackled again, holding a knife to her throat, too.

"White boy?"

Not her, too. The man was there again. There were three of him now and they were fast multiplying. Kurt just couldn't take it anymore. He unleashed his pent-up pain and suffering. All his hate. All his anger. All his sorrow.

His own scream would be the only thing he remembered.

* * *

><p>"Alex! RUN! Get help! Fast! Run, Alex, run!"<p>

"I'm sorry, Monsieur Hummel," Alex whispered through her tears. "I want to help. But I can't." She closed her eyes on the darkness again, willing herself to sleep.

Knowing she won't.

* * *

><p><strong>I only had an hour to write all of this. I practically had it all set up and most of it was written out (even that poor excuse for an apology at the top), but I had to finish it in the hour I had access to the computer. I was so happy when I could get it up before Season 3 premiered. Of course, this hour means it isn't proofread in any way. <strong>

**A note to everyone still reading this: October 3! Remember, remember! October 3 is Ocelot Day! Why? If you need to ask, you will never know. If you already know, you need only ask. Only Ocelot Kittens know, so be awesome. Be an Ocelot Kitten. *corny thumbs up***


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